


Omens

by LFB72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Art, Bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fever, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Major Character Injury, Merlin's Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-06 10:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4218840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After experiencing a terrifying glimpse of the future Merlin ends up injured and faces his worst fears - is Arthur friend or Foe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Worst Fears:

**Author's Note:**

> This story is betaed by the wonderful Caldera32 and is also posted on Fanfiction.net.  
> It is set after season four but before season 5.  
> The story is finished, but I continue to work with my beta to edit the individual chapters before posting. I hope you enjoy it, feedback is always welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin had a vision of Arthur attacking him.

[ ](https://imgur.com/gBnXiPD)

 

 

 

Chapter 1: Worst Fears:

_“I’m sorry, Merlin. I hoped it would never come to this.”_

_Arthur towers above him with grim expression, arms trembling and sword held high above his head._

_“I’m so sorry,” whispers the king, closing his eyes and bringing the blade down hard and fast._

Merlin jerks, gasping for air as his torso springs forward. His hand flies to his chest trying to stem blood that isn’t there. Magic fizzes beneath his skin and it takes a couple of moments for his breathing to calm and his surroundings to come into focus; it’s dark and he’s alone. His throat burns and he hopes the scream did not wake Gaius but the room remains still and quiet. Merlin’s wiry frame is drenched in sweat and his skin quickly chills; he begins to shiver but not just from the cold. Pulling the blanket close around his shoulders he tries and fails to make sense of it all.

It’s the third time this week he’s awoken in this manner; always the same nightmare, stealing his sleep and challenging his sanity. He’s afraid to close his eyes now,  frightened of the terrible images burnt on the inside of the lids.

Keeping busy and forcing himself to stay awake only worked for a short time. He’s tired; so incredibly weary that his joints ache, he can’t think straight and his head constantly bangs.

With a flick of his lashes Merlin lights a candle and reaches for the cup of water by his bed. He catches his own haggard reflection on the surface and for a moment he’s sure the image will morph into the agonised face of Arthur attacking him with his sword. Resisting the urge to slam the cup against the wall, he grips it with shaking hands and gulps down the refreshing fluid.

He clutches the empty vessel as if the act will provide all the answers to his problems. It doesn’t. The cup shatters, cutting his fingers as pieces of clay fly across the room. Merlin’s eyes glow gold and the fragments reform as if nothing had happened. _If only it could always be so easy._

The weight of his destiny, all the losses and mistakes; he’s close to breaking sometimes but manages to pull himself together and plaster a smile over the cracks. Outwardly he looks the same carefree servant but inside he’s not. No one sees that man, the real Merlin, and he can’t let them - but neither can he go on like this.

 

For all his powerful magic, the warlock never had the curse of foresight nor would he want it. On the few occasions the future was revealed it foretold terrible events. Despite his best efforts, the omens always came to fruition. Averting one disaster merely led him to another and any attempts to change the future had been futile. _Why should it be any different this time?_

A few days ago he saw his own fate; he is to be slain by Arthur.

Merlin would give his life for his king or die at his side but he never expected it to be taken by Arthur’s hand. The when and why are unknown; premonitions never tell the whole story. Merlin wants to pretend it will never happen but he can’t.

_Does Arthur strike when he discovers my magic? Perhaps he already knows and is just biding his time? Should I challenge Arthur or run away; try to change things or let fate run its course? What is the point of knowledge if I do nothing with it?_

He bangs his head with the heels of his hands as if this will somehow organise the whirling thoughts and make everything clear. It doesn’t. Merlin feels an unfamiliar thread of resentment. If he’d never agreed to help Gwaine on that fateful day then none of this would have happened. If he’d never set foot in that cursed place, he would still be oblivious to the terrors ahead.

* * *

 

_Three days ago:_

“Come on Merlin; I’ll be on my own.”

“Are you saying you're frightened? Because I don’t believe it, Gwaine; you’re a knight of the realm, trained to deal with anything.”

“Except boredom,” his friend responds with a pout.

“You don’t normally have trouble finding entertainment.”

“Yes, but I can’t take women or ale down there, can I?”

“I suppose not.”

“I could take you?” Gwaine waggles his eyebrows.

Merlin sighs.

As if his friend can sense his resolve wavering, Gwaine continues with a grin, “besides, you know about all the other stuff that’s down there. Come on, it will be interesting - fun, even.”

“Fun! Have you any idea how dangerous some of those artefacts could be in the wrong hands?”

Gwaine lifts his palms up at his friend's outburst. “Which is precisely why I need a guide!”

“What about my own work, Gwaine?” Merlin asks, exasperated.

“Please?” The knight bites his lip and looks expectant.

“Fine! I’ll stay for half an hour – but that’s all.”

Gwaine bounces on his toes and practically hugs Merlin. “You won’t regret it.”

It’s such an innocent remark; Merlin has no idea how he will come to curse those words but for now he trails behind the exuberant knight, who all but runs down the corridor in his delight.

* * *

 

Gwaine is holding a chest containing treasures that have to be catalogued and deposited into the vaults. There are several flights of stairs that need to be negotiated and, as they descend, Merlin is aware of the temperature dropping. They’re deep underground so it’s only to be expected and yet it feels unnaturally cold. Merlin pulls his thin jacket closer and buries his hands in his pockets but it does nothing to protect against the chill.

Gwaine slips the key into the lock. As they open the heavy iron door and enter the vaults, Merlin’s senses are assaulted by the magic that radiates from the various artefacts. It is overwhelming and makes Merlin dizzy - like being in a crowded room with too many people vying for his attention.

“Are you alright?”

“What?”

“You look a bit peaky.” Gwaine picks up one of the torches from the wall and waves it towards Merlin’s face.

“Not eaten yet today, that’s all.”  He mumbles, backing away from the flame.

“Merlin! Why didn’t you say?”

_Because I never got the chance!_ Only Merlin is far too aware that hunger is not the reason he feels queasy. Already regretting the decision to come down into the vaults he resolves to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just get on with it.”

Gwaine fishes in his pocket, pulling out an apple and tossing it to the servant.

“Here.”

Merlin looks up just in time to catch the flying fruit. The action wrong-foots him and he staggers into one of the shelves, knocking over the contents. He scrabbles in the dirt, picking up the fallen items. He reaches for a velvet bag, dislodging the large crystal inside; as it makes contact with his skin, a spark of magic travels up his arm and he feels his gift swirl in response. It starts out as warmth and comfort, quickly becoming a searing pain. Voices and images invade his mind; angry waves breaking into his consciousness and causing total devastation. He sees Arthur. Terror grabs him at what disaster will befall his king but he can’t let go. The fate that’s revealed is his own.

_“I’m sorry, Merlin. I hoped it would never come to this.”_

_Arthur towers above him with grim expression, arms trembling and sword held high above his head._

_“I’m so sorry.” The king whispers, closing his eyes and bringing the blade down hard and fast._

_The scene changes; he sees himself lying on his back crying out in agony, skin pale and dotted in perspiration, hands coated in blood._

“Merlin?”

A firm hand grabs his shoulder. The servant drops the crystal and is suddenly aware that he is frantically wiping his hands on his trousers. He abruptly stills and squeezes his eyes shut, terrified they're burning gold and Gwaine will see.

He did not look directly into the crystal and yet the images were so vivid he still sees them faintly as he blinks at his surroundings.

Gwaine is staring at him with concern and Merlin realises his whole body is shaking.

“Merlin?”

He’s being helped up and wobbles on tremulous legs but a strong arm steadies him.

“Let’s go back.”

“I’m fine,” he manages, stumbling.

“The hell you are.”

“Just a little light-headed; I’ll eat something when we're done.”

“We’re going back. I can do this later.”

Gwaine forces him down onto a chest, then hastily picks up the items from the floor whilst Merlin leans against the wall. When the knight reaches the velvet bag, its contents slip from his grasp and it’s only down to the knight’s finely-tuned reflexes that he manages to catch the falling crystal.

“That was lucky,” Gwaine states, holding up the clear rock. “What is it?”

Merlin turns away. “The crystal of Neahtid.”

“The what?”

“The crystal of Neahtid; it’s rumoured to predict the future.”

Gwaine examines it, turning it over in his hands. The action makes Merlin nauseous and he’s doing his best not to look but can’t help but be drawn to it. The knight rubs the rock on his chest and brings it closer to a torch. “I can’t see anything.”

For a moment Merlin is stunned, even now he can make out blurry images on its surfaces and is amazed Gwaine can’t see them - even though he knows he shouldn’t. “You’re not supposed to; only a really powerful magic user can.” He chokes, tearing his gaze away.

“I guess it’s pretty useless then.”

“Not in the wrong hands. It was stolen a few years ago, knights were killed and a druid camp destroyed in the quest to get it back.” Merlin grimaces.

“Right.” All joviality goes as Gwaine carefully places the crystal back in the bag and onto the shelf.

“Let’s go.”

Merlin nods. He can’t get out quick enough and has to force himself to walk slowly.

No matter how fast the warlock walks he cannot escape what he has just seen or the consequences of it. The die is cast.

 

 

 

 


	2. Taking Action

Thanks so much to everyone who left comments / kudos, I really appreciate it.

Special mention to Caldera32 my wonderful beta!

* * *

Chapter 2: Taking Action

It's been over a week since Merlin held the crystal of Neahtid. In it he saw visions of Arthur attacking him with a sword and himself convulsing on the ground, covered in blood. The images won't leave his head; if anything it feels as if the crystal is calling to him, whispering with such constant intensity he is compelled to get closer to hear what it says. He has tried to resist but there have been several occasions when his feet have taken him toward the vaults unbidden and he's only just managed to shake himself out of the daze and stop descending the steps. If caught, how would he explain it? It's not safe for him to be around all those items of powerful magic alone. He fears what will happen if he goes again.

Things can't go on this way; lack of sleep is making him irritable and he's making mistakes in his work. Gwaine is evidently concerned because Merlin keeps finding apples and other goodies strewn amongst his belongings. It's as if the knight is surreptitiously trying to fatten him up and show that he cares. Unfortunately, Merlin finds himself snapping at his friend's constant attempts to distract him, frustrated that he can't allay his fears or tell Gwaine what's really bothering him.

Confiding in Gaius has not helped; the old physician argues that visions are merely half-truths and possible futures. He has questioned Merlin repeatedly, asking if he could be mistaken. There was no mistaking the look on Arthur's face, his words or actions, and the scream was his own - as was the blood that coated his hands. Yet Gaius insists the vision may not be what it seems.  _Why? Because it goes against a destiny that has been foretold for thousands of years?_  His surrogate father's reasoning does nothing to calm him; how could it? Gaius always advocates caution and warns him not to reveal his secret and yet if he were that confident of the future Merlin would be free and not pretending to be the idiot everyone thinks he is.

Absorbed in his own worries, he finds himself at his master's door, failing to register how he got there. He rallies himself and enters the king's chambers with a loud greeting and a broad grin.

The smile drops from his face when he observes Arthur staring blankly out the window. The royal is brooding; Merlin has known him long enough to recognise the signs. He's so finely tuned to his friend's moods that he can almost sense the cause of his rumination.

"Do you think she's really gone?"

Arthur's shoulders tense, knowing exactly to whom Merlin refers. "No."

"There has been no word for three years."

Even as the words slip from Merlin's lips he does not believe them – he knows Morgana is not dead. The witch's presence lingers malevolently in the back of his consciousness, even if he does not know where she is or her intentions.

Arthur turns. "I grew up with Morgana; she is intelligent and cunning but above all patient. If she feels wronged she will not forget or forgive; she will wait however long it takes to exact her revenge."

Merlin shifts uncomfortably; what Arthur has said is true but the king has not finished.

"When I was nine I dropped a dead frog down the back of her dress." Arthur lifts his finger, preventing Merlin from interrupting. "I was severely reprimanded for my little 'joke' and thought that was the end of it - it was not. She waited three weeks before putting live worms on my plate during an important dinner with father and a guest. Morgana knew I would not be able to say anything or the cook would suffer and that father would not tolerate us misbehaving or leaving food."

Arthur turned back towards the window, a resigned expression etched upon his face. "I can ensure you, Merlin, we have not seen the last of my sister!"

"You won't look for her?"

Arthur's hands rest on his hips. "It would be a fruitless exercise and a waste of resources."

_Yes, but I should have looked for her_ , Merlin tells himself. There are many things he should have done. The warlock has an unexpected rush of recklessness and, gathering his courage, tries to gauge Arthur's opinions on magic.

He gives a small cough. "What would you have done if you had discovered she had magic when you were younger?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wants to claw them back.  _Why ask Arthur that?_ It's almost like he wants to punish himself. Morgana betrayed Arthur in the worst way and yet Merlin's insatiable need to constantly monitor his king's attitude overrules logic. As he waits for Arthur's response a coil of discomfort takes hold of his stomach and tightens around his throat making breathing difficult.

Just as Merlin begins to hope Arthur did not hear him, the king snorts.

"I don't know... We played together, grew up together, I would never have wanted to harm her... but I could never have predicted how she would turn against us."

"You couldn't have known."

_I knew._

"She went on to slaughter hundreds – her own people - ruined my father and betrayed Camelot. Think how many could have been saved if she had been stopped before that happened."

"You tried to see the good in her."

_As did I, but poisoned her anyway – I am responsible for Morgana and how she turned out._

"You're right, Merlin; I won't make the same mistake again... Magic did this, it corrupted her – it's taken everything from me."

There is a small clatter as some of the items on the tray Merlin holds fall to the floor. He hastily puts it down and picks up the fallen cutlery.

"That will be all, Merlin."

Under normal circumstances Merlin would ignore the dismissal and give the king the support he so often craves but cannot ask for. Not this time - Merlin all but bolts from the room. It's all he can do to walk normally past the guards until he can round a corner and duck into an alcove.

Out of sight, he hugs his knees to his chest and tries to get his breathing under control.  _Well, what did I expect?_ His destiny seems insurmountable.  _Will there ever be a time when Arthur accepts magic?_   _When it's no longer seen as a curse and a threat?_  Merlin leans his face against the cold stone, hoping to cool his red cheeks before once again putting on a cheerful demeanour and forcing himself to go about his chores.

* * *

The rest of the day vanishes in a whir of activity. Merlin performs automatically, not stopping to chat or resting between tasks. When he gets back to his chambers there is a note from Gaius; the physician has been called to a neighbouring village to help with an outbreak of sweating sickness. He will be gone for several days.

Merlin holds the parchment, struck by indecision. He's used to reacting when Arthur or the people he cares about are in danger but now that the threat is aimed at him he does not know what to do. The attack could be a year from now or tomorrow. Not for the first time the warlock understands the torment Morgana's dreams gave her. He needs to do something, anything, but is loath to perform magic in case he unwittingly brings about that what he fears.

Kilgharrah is the obvious choice for answers; cryptic as his advice can be the dragon may offer an explanation. Maybe the druids could help, but he does not know how to find them.

Merlin resolves to slip out of the castle after he has finished serving Arthur. He will have to go further this time, deeper into the forest, and find a clearing far away. If Arthur were to follow him and see... the dragonlord shudders. It is a ridiculous notion; Arthur has never followed before, he has never been caught using magic before – but perhaps that's what starts it?

* * *

Striding across the courtyard, Merlin jumps at the sound of his name. He turns to see a guard waving. Returning the gesture weakly, he ducks his head and gathers speed. The sun is low in the sky and casts long shadows. He'd just finished his shift and needs to get out of the castle whilst there is still some daylight; he has several hours' worth on foot if he is to make it back by dawn.

It's now dark and he's been walking a long time. There is barely any moonlight to guide his way as he stumbles through the woods. He has to be stealthy and so casts a spell to cover his tracks and make his steps silent. He's gone deep into the forest but pushes on.

The night is cool and the temperature is dropping; there are no clouds to keep in the heat. Merlin picks up his pace. His speed means he does not notice the chill in the air and for once he's grateful for the thin jacket that's stopping him from getting too hot despite the exertion. He's deep in the middle of the forest; it will take a while to reach somewhere suitable to call the dragon and for Kilgharrah to land.

Soon Merlin is running, not attending to his feet, just moving as quickly as he can through the dense trees. He does not see the trap buried in the undergrowth - it's deliberately hidden to catch victims unawares. He wouldn't expect it; animal traps are banned in Camelot and have been since Arthur became king. Those that remain are old, rusty, and covered in muck.

Merlin's strides are long, pushing off through the spongy earth and propelling him forward in a steady rhythm. The small click catches his attention but it's too late; his heel slams into the trap, triggering the metal teeth that rip into his flesh. He screams.

He's still screaming as he hits the ground. The trap is clamped around his left leg and the air is filled with the stench of blood gushing from the wound. His magic instinctively flares but hits the iron ring and reverberates - useless. White hot pain shoots up his leg as he rolls on his back grasping his shin, trying to release the metal band. Merlin's vision speckles, he stills and the throbbing ebbs a little so he attempts to crawl, dragging himself through the dirt and creating a furrow in the mud. He manages less than a meter before he vomits and blacks out.

The warlock is oblivious as his body cools and starts to shake, he's totally helpless and alone - bound to the ground as crimson seeps into the earth. The crystal of Neahtid did not foretell this.

* * *

TBC


	3. Desperate

Thanks so much to everyone who has left comments and kudos - I really appreciate it!

Special thanks to my fantastic beta Caldera32

* * *

Chapter 3 Desperate 

Merlin wakes with a start, his face pressed into the ground. All he can taste is stale vomit, earth, and copper. Disorientated, he tries to work out where he is but he's numb, so cold that his bones ache and it's hard to think.

His breath makes white plumes in the dark. Seeking the last vestiges of heat he stuffs blue-tipped fingers under his armpits but can't stop the violent shakes. He begins to curl but the movement jars the iron jaws trapping his leg, tearing his flesh.

Merlin's gut-wrenching scream echoes through the trees but no one answers; no one comes.

_The trap – I remember now._

The warlock retches then grasps his useless limb, trying to ease the pain, clawing at the metal teeth to no avail - frigid hands too slick with his own blood to find purchase.

He lets out a hysterical laugh.  _This is what I saw in the crystal._ The irony bites; if he'd not gone looking for answers he'd not be in this mess - once again he has successfully fulfilled a prophecy by trying to avoid it. What of the other image; surely it's too late for Arthur? Merlin's not a fool, his body is failing and he can't see how he will make it out of this situation alive.

He's pinned; crimson leaks from his leg with each beat of his heart and every sound makes him flinch, for fierce creatures hunt in these woods. How long before the meat is torn from his bones and all that remains of the mighty Emrys is a solitary buckled boot?

It hurts that Arthur will never know the truth; Merlin will forever be the stupid servant who died like an animal caught in a trap. He regrets he was not strong enough to tell him of his magic, that he wasted all the opportunities.

He's desperate. The trees are too dense for Kilgharrah, shouting will only bring predators, and the iron circle severs his gift. No one knows where he is or that he's missing. It's hours from dawn, the temperature will only drop and he's lost too much blood.

The shivering has stopped now; his body is closing down. Gaius would be proud of how much he's learned. Gaius will be mad at his carelessness and will mourn him when he's gone but he'll find someone new. Arthur will get George and he will be a much better servant. Only George can't protect the king -  _not like me; no one can._   _That was my gift, my destiny - now it's gone._

His vision is blurry; he blinks, feeling the moisture trickle down his face and soak into his neckerchief.  _No man is worth your tears, Merlin._ He laughs at the bitter memory, turning his head to wipe his cheek and hide the evidence that no one will see.  _You're wrong, Arthur, some are worth everything._

His skin prickles as his gift stirs, angry at its master's despondency.  _No, I don't accept this. There must be something I can do - I am Emrys; I refuse to die alone in some forsaken corner of the forest._

In a last effort, he reaches out telepathically;  _perhaps the druids will hear?_ He thinks he feels his magic, trapped beneath his skin, he tries to latch onto it but it's too much. He's too cold and he gives in, thinking of the friend he's failed - The Once and Future King, Arthur.

" _I'm sorry, Arthur... so sorry. I never thought it would end like this."_

* * *

Arthur stretches the kinks out of his back and looks up through the glass at the full moon. He should have been in bed a long time ago. His gaze falls on his sleeping wife, the book slack in her hand, still open where it rests against the coverlet. He told Guinevere he just had to look over some reports before joining her. The papers on his desk lay undisturbed; the candle is almost down to the nub. He can't settle - something is off but he does not know what it is. The feeling has been growing all evening but he is at a loss. Everything is in order; there is nothing he has forgotten to do and yet...? Arthur shrugs, wetting his fingers and snubbing out the candle with a satisfying hiss. He kicks off his boots and peels off his shirt, leaving them in an unruly pile for Merlin to sort out in the morning. The thought of making life difficult for his servant makes him smirk and feel warm inside. He plucks the book from his wife's hand, kisses her, and settles down to sleep.

* * *

 

"Merlin!"

Arthur wakes with a start, skin tingling and clammy.  _What's going on?_

There's no warning bell, no one banging on the door, and no Merlin. The room is dark and quiet but something is wrong. Unnerved, Arthur grabs his clothes and heads out, leaving Guinevere to sleep.

"Sire?"

"Where's my servant?"

The guard shrugs."He left the castle as I was starting my shift -."

" _In darkness?"_

The guard has no time to reply. Arthur storms down the corridor, unable to explain the urgency or sense of foreboding that has only grown. He passes the window and catches a glimmer in the courtyard -  _Merlin?_

Rushing onto the cobbles he searches for the light, seeing it disappear through the gate. He snatches a torch, checks his sword, and pulls a thick cloak about his shoulders. This is madness, yet he can't stop.

"Sire?"

Arthur turns towards the guard. "Wake Gaius, tell him to be prepared."

"For what?"

"The worst." Where the words come from he doesn't know. "Instruct the knights to follow."

Arthur does not remember that Gaius has already left Camelot to help with another village; he is too intent on his task. He does not hear the guard running, it's only when the man stops in front of him, panting, that he gives him any attention at all.

"Shouldn't you wait, Sire?"

"There isn't time."

The king marches on, eyes darting from side to side searching for a sign, his stomach tightening when there is none. Undeterred, Arthur saddles his horse, every second precious.

_Where now?_

" _Arthur."_

Letting out a breath, he turns toward the voice; against the tree line blue light flickers, beckoning.

He digs his heels into the mare and wills the animal to follow. He rides swiftly, never losing sight of the pale blue orb that flickers in front, darting between trees and leading the way. It could be a trap but it does not matter, the compulsion is too great and he has been guided by this light before.

The woods become dense; he continues on foot. The orb stops, hovering low to the ground.

He smells the blood before he sees the body – it makes his stomach roil.

" _Merlin!"_

He sprints over to the crumpled mass, dropping to his knees. He's seen many horrors on the battlefield - it does nothing to prepare him for the state of his friend. For a moment he's paralysed, not knowing where to place his hands - there's so much blood. Merlin's leg is a mangled mess, caught in an illegal trap.

"Merlin."

As the knight brushes his fingers over cold skin, he feels the ghost of warm breath -  _thank the gods!_  He gently shakes Merlin's shoulder.

"Come on, Merlin, time to wake up now."

His servant shifts then cracks open his eyes. He lifts a hand, swiping at Arthur as if he's not sure the king is really there, then his knuckles brush against Arthur's sleeve.

"Arthur?" He croaks.

The king grabs Merlin's arm and rubs his back.

"You're real!"

"Last time I checked."

"How?"

"Shush, that's not important right now."

Arthur drapes a heavy cloak over his shivering servant and immediately works to remove the trap. Merlin grunts in pain. It's difficult to see, there is blood everywhere which has started to dry and is getting tacky. The strange blue orb that led him to his friend lights his way and gives him hope that they can get through this.

He tears a strip of fabric from the cloak to make a tourniquet. Releasing the trap is going to hurt. He undoes his belt.

"Here."

Merlin bites hard on the leather.

Arthur's fingers skate round the iron ring, searching for the release mechanism -  _there, found it_. He looks into Merlin's eyes; gives a curt nod and presses his thumb against the catch. Finally, the metal monstrosity springs open.

Tears streak his servant's face, body jerking with a muffled cry. The leg is a mess, it starts to bleed again and Arthur does his best to press tattered flesh trying to flush the wound - it's too much. Merlin yells.

The light winks out suddenly and an unnatural wind whips through the trees. Arthur freezes, covering Merlin's unconscious body with his own.

He can feel Merlin's warm breath against the side of his face and takes some comfort from that whilst his eyes adjust to the dark. His senses are on high alert - he knows there is company.

"Who's there?" He grips his sword, heart pounding.

Arthur shields Merlin as best he can as his gaze searches the dense woodland. For a moment there is a flicker of light then it's gone.

He cannot run or hide; the king braces himself for the worst - determined to go down fighting.

There is nothing, not a sound, and he begins to think it was all in his head until four hooded figures emerge from the trees, surrounding them.

[](https://imgur.com/v3GoTDI)

* * *

 

_Any thoughts?_


	4. Druids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has added kudos and comments.
> 
> Special thanks to Caldera32, my beta, for getting this chapter done so quickly.
> 
> I nearly chopped the top off my thumb this morning and I'm now supporting a nice bandage so I thought I'd better post before anything else can go wrong!

 

Chapter 4: Druids 

Arthur grips his sword and shields Merlin as best he can. His gaze searches the dense woodland, eyes adjusting to the dark. For a moment there is a flicker of light and then it's gone. He cannot run or hide; the king braces himself for the worst - determined to go down fighting.

Four hooded figures emerge from the trees, brandishing torches and surrounding them.

_Druids._

"Do not be alarmed, Arthur Pendragon. We only wish to help."

It takes a moment to register, then relief floods him; Merlin has a chance now - that's all that matters.

Arthur is taken aback when the four men suddenly drop to one knee and bow their heads. In unison they chant. "Our Lord."

Embarrassed by the unexpected show of respect, Arthur is about to ask them to stand when Merlin makes some indiscernible noise. He stills, crouching low and straining to make out what his servant is saying but an eerie silence descends until a low melodic voice disturbs him.

Turning, Arthur clambers to his feet to meet the now, standing, druids. One of the four figures comes forward and drops his hood to reveal his face. He has short silver hair, his skin tanned and lined from time spent in the sun.

"King Arthur, my name is Cuinn. My brothers and I offer our service." He bows then steps back.

Arthur nods and slowly moves to reveal Merlin's limp form. His hands are trembling and caked with blood; he wipes the excess on his trousers, composing himself. It's only now that the full severity of the situation dawns.

"I have to get him back to Camelot, to our physician; he needs urgent medical attention." The royal barks, surprised at the degree of desperation in his voice.

"King Arthur, your servant is in no condition to travel."

"My horse is not far, I just need -"

The druid leader gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your horse is over an hour's walk away."

"No. That's not possible."

Arthur swipes at air as a wave of dizziness strikes and he stumbles. The druid leader steadies him.

"You have ridden through the night to get here; you are exhausted and need to rest."

Arthur resists, struggling out of the druid's grip. "Merlin."

"We will care for him."

Arthur stills. He has seen the druid tattoos on their wrists but does not recognise any of their faces.  _Do I trust these people? What choice do I have, I would struggle on my own and they have no reason to hurt Merlin._

He finds himself sitting down, not entirely sure how he got there. He's resting against a log and watching in a daze as two druids take over and tend to Merlin's leg. He's torn between wanting to be in charge and the relief of sharing the responsibility.

Merlin is unconscious, which is a blessing. The injury is hideous; jagged flesh, barely clinging to the bones. Anger erupts and Arthur bangs his fist into the ground. This should never have happened; traps are banned. These devices are designed to maim and yet the animals harvested from them have often been dead for so long the meat is rotten and useless, making the whole exercise pointlessly inhumane. The thought of Merlin caught like that - if he'd not found him in time... It makes Arthur want to retch. He quickly turns away, attention focused on a large druid making some sort of paste with a pestle and mortar.

The man is of similar proportions to Percival and is dextrous just like the knight.

"Do you have a camp here?"

The druid does not stop his work. "No, but we have supplies enough to make him comfortable."

"Comfortable?"

Gaius uses that expression when he can do nothing more for a patient. Merlin only trapped his leg, he'll be fine - he has to be. Together they have always defied the odds, triumphed over the impossible. Despite his optimism, Arthur has seen knights with similar wounds die and if they did survive it was often without the limb. Merlin's skin and muscle is in tatters, he's lost a lot of blood, he's practically hypothermic and, given the dirt encrusted iron that pierced the skin, infection seems inevitable. The king swallows, his throat constricting, but is shaken from his thoughts by the druid addressing him.

"We will do everything we can for Em - for him."

"Everything?"

"Clean and disinfect the wound, wash it out and apply herbs to aid healing. The fascia and skin can be sewn together and bound in place – the rest is up to him."

"Is that enough?"

_It can't be enough._

"It is what your physician would do."

"Will he get better?"

The man hesitates, licking his lip. "He has… he is young, strong, and the wound has been treated early - that all bodes well."

"But you're not certain?"

"Nothing in life is certain, Your Majesty. Rest assured we will do all that we can." He bows his head and continues making the paste.

_Magic could save him_.  _Druids have magic._ Arthur dismisses the thought;  _what am I thinking_?  _Magic killed my father – I won't let that happen to Merlin._

A presence gains Arthur's attention and he finds himself face to face with the leader of the group.

"You should sleep; it is several hours to first light and your journey will be easier if you are rested."

Arthur is a soldier; he knows the wisdom of these words but is reluctant to follow them. The other man seems to read his expression.

"Please, Arthur Pendragon, rest. We will look after him and wake you if anything happens."

_So you can run me through? No, that's no fair; druids are largely peaceful and they have shown their worth thus far._

Arthur nods; he is sick with exhaustion but wary. As much as he tries to stay alert he keeps drifting off only to jerk awake. Finally the king lets himself fall into a restless sleep.

* * *

 

He wakes to the sound of screams. Grabbing his sword, Arthur launches himself at the druid standing over Merlin only to be held back.

"Stop! You're hurting him."

"The procedure is painful, but necessary"

Merlin yells.

"What is he doing?" Arthur shouts, breaking free of his bonds and rushing forward.

The elder places a hand on Arthur's arm. "Alcohol will clean the wound."

"He's making it worse."

"It will be better."

"It doesn't sound like it."

Merlin whimpers and Arthur can't stand it. "Stop it!" Arthur goes for his sword but is stopped by a familiar, though gravelly, voice.

"No, Arthur. He's trying to help."

The king freezes. "Merlin?"

"It's... alright; let him work." He grunts out, face white and beaded in sweat. "Please."

Arthur swallows and staggers back. He turns away and fights the urge to be sick. His own pain he can deal with but hearing the hurt of his friend is hard. There are a couple more cries and whimpers and then all is silent.

The man with silver hair approaches. "Thank you. He can rest now; we have given him something for the pain."

Merlin should not have to suffer, not like this. "I thought you could help him". Arthur snaps with more venom than intended.

"We have."

The knight licks his lips and stares intently at the druid but the words won't come.

"What else would you have us do, Arthur, King of Camelot?"

The king hesitates. "He may be just a servant -"

"He is much more than that." The druid interrupts sternly.

"No, I didn't mean - " Arthur slams his fists against his thighs and starts to pace.

"He is much stronger than you think." The druid adds.

The royal stops abruptly. "You don't understand… I can't lose him."

"We are doing everything we can."

"No. Your people have other skills." Arthur blurts out but cannot continue.

The druid pauses, seemingly weighing up what to say. "Ours is a diverse and varied culture. We are taught from birth to understand and respect the ways of the earth. Some follow that path, others do not. Some of our people are gifted in the old ways but not all and not us." He gestures to the other men.

"I thought -"

"You thought we all had magic? Why? Not all citizens of Camelot are destined to be knights and dignitaries." The druid explained.

"But I pardoned your people –"

"Our people did nothing wrong."

Arthur is becoming flustered; he does not want to beg but he will if that is what it takes.

"Please?"

"What are you saying, that you would allow magic to be used to heal him?"

Arthur clears his throat; he looks over to Merlin then turns towards the silver-haired man, defiant. "I would do what's necessary to save him."

"Even if meant disregarding the teachings of your father?"

"I don't ask for myself."

"I know. Your devotion to your people is admirable; it makes you a better king than Uther."

"So you will help him?"

The druid elder's face softens. "We have done all we can. I'm afraid I cannot offer the service you seek – I do not have those skills. All our people respect magic and know of the prophecies; however, our numbers have reduced and there are now far fewer who have the gift.

Arthur does not believe what he's hearing. "No! You must have! How do you explain the light, how you got here?"

"We heard cries and sensed his distress, that is all. We could not leave him to suffer."

"The blue light that summoned me, that was you."

The druid shook his head, "I cannot take responsibility for that."

"Then who? Someone led me to him?"

"It is not my place to tell."

"It was magic; I know it."

"What makes you so certain?"

"A sphere of light, it was unnatural."

"Yet you followed it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Merlin."

"You knew something was wrong?"

"Yes."

The druid smiled. "You trusted in your heart and it did not let you down. You are becoming the great king you were always destined to be." The man bows then turns to leave.

"No. Stop. The light, where did it come from?"

The man smiled, broader this time. "Emrys."

_Emrys?_

"Who's Emrys?"

"He watches over Camelot; he watches over you."

"He's a sorcerer?" None of this makes sense and yet he has heard the name before.

"He's much more than that. He is the greatest magic user ever to walk the earth."

The druid turns and begins to walk away, firelight illuminating his grey hair.

The king is left stunned.

"What, wait." Arthur breaks into a run to catch up. Grabbing the druid and spinning him around.

The man breaks the hold. "No more questions. It is late and I must take over from my brother so he can sleep. May I urge you to do the same whilst I watch over your servant."

"But-"

"Good night, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur needs to know more, but can't process it all. He's weary, fatigue creeping into his bones. Morgana mentioned Emrys - ' _Not even Emrys can save you,'_  she'd sneered. Evidently he had, but where was he now? Why lead him here then do nothing? Arthur's head is spinning.

He settles close to the fire the druids had made, intent on observing Merlin - who is asleep and seems peaceful. There would be time for more questions at dawn. Things will be better in the morning; they can meet up with the knights and get back to Camelot - they just need to get through the night. Arthur tries to watch over his servant but within seconds his eyes have closed.

* * *

_So, I was going to go a bit further and leave it on a cliffhanger but Caldera persuaded me this was a better place to stop. Let me know what you think._


	5. Knights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse for Merlin.

Thank you all so much the support, I really appreciate your comments.

My wonderful beta, Caldera32, did the honours, I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Chapter 5: Knights

When Arthur wakes several hours later the druids are all gone. For a terrible moment Arthur thinks Merlin has gone too - until he realises that Merlin is still sleeping, covered in a blanket and close to the remnants of a camp fire.

There is a scrap of parchment that tells Arthur Merlin's fate is in his hands now and reminds him to change the bandages regularly and watch for signs of infection. It is the only evidence the elusive people were ever there.

Arthur scrunches the paper in his hand.  _How could they leave us alone? I'm not a physician and I can't carry Merlin by myself. How could they do this?_ Arthur kicks at the ground. Getting angry won't help; it's first light and they need to get going.

The king kneels next to his pale servant. Merlin is shivering under the thick covers and there is a thin sheen of perspiration on his face. The knight swallows, dreading the thought of peeling back the blanket.

The bandages around Merlin's lower leg are stained pink and pale yellow; the pungent herbs cannot hide a putrid smell. Arthur will have to change the dressing and does not relish the thought of what he will find. Merlin is unconscious but thrashing his head and making indiscernible words and whimpers. The royal reaches for his friend's forehead and speaks as if trying to calm a wild horse.

"Merlin, I have to look at your leg. Try and be still."

There is no response, but he never really expected one. The younger man does stop fidgeting briefly, however, his skin is burning and it's obvious he has an infection even without undoing the bandages. Arthur rips away the thin fabric of Merlin's trousers and removes the boot. The leather and thick socks offered some protection from the metal teeth of the trap but not enough. The skin beneath the dressing had been stitched expertly by the druids but the edges are swollen and red-rimmed; gentle pressure produces foul-smelling pus.

His servant does not even flinch as Arthur attempts to clean and dress the wound. Merlin has always been pale - the tanned knights were forever teasing him about his white limbs, likening them to birch twigs - but now his cheeks are flushed and his leg sports an ascending pink band, creeping towards his knee. Even to the untrained, this is not a good sign.

Arthur is standing above Merlin, trying to work out how he is going to get the ailing man to his horse, when Merlin's eyes fly open and go wide in terror.

"Mer-"

"No, Arthur, please." Merlin begs as he scabbles back on his elbows, never losing sight of the king. He tries to move again, but the action makes him yell out in pain.

"Merlin, wait." Arthur steps forward.

"Don't kill me!" Merlin holds out a trembling arm, palm splayed, tears streaking his face.

Arthur is shocked by Merlin's reaction; he attempts to placate the terrified man with an outstretched hand and soft words that go unheard.

There was a time when he'd gotten amusement from scaring servants, their fear making him feel superior - not anymore. Merlin is clearly not in his right mind but that doesn't stop the bile rising to the back of the king's throat, knowing he is the cause of Merlin's uncharacteristic cowering.

He advances slowly but the injured man still struggles to back away. He's about to reason his case when he hears a noise coming from the surrounding trees. Arthur freezes and recovers his sword, senses on high alert. Just as he thought things could not get any worse, they have company.

"Sire?"

Four of Camelot's best knights step into the clearing. Arthur's shoulders sag.  _Thank the gods!_

Gwaine frowns. "What's going on?" The knight moves protectively towards Merlin, putting himself between the servant and the king.

The gesture infuriates Arthur and he only just keeps a lid on his temper as he explains.

"Merlin's injured - he caught his leg in a trap. The wound was treated but now he's delirious; he thinks I'm trying to kill him!"

The rugged knight observes his friend's bandaged leg and crouches next to him, face grave. He places a hand against Merlin's clammy forehead, looks at Arthur, and nods.

"The skin is hot; he's running a fever."

The diagnosis vindicates Arthur but it does not make the situation better. The king curses under his breath then addresses his knights. "We need to get him back to Camelot. Find some branches and make a stretcher - Merlin cannot walk."

The king steps forward but Merlin whimpers and buries his head in Gwaine's shoulder, making himself small.

All the knights witness the servant's behaviour but they don't say anything. Percival and Elyan immediately set to work while Arthur attempts to advance again, but Gwaine holds up his hand and shakes his head. Merlin still seems agitated and is thrashing but calms under the other knight's ministrations.

Arthur's mouth is dry and it's hard to swallow; Merlin's behaviour is unexpected and the reality of it bites. Merlin has always had such an unshakable faith in him, has lifted his spirits when all seemed lost. He relies on Merlin's optimism in a crisis and now, when he needs it most, that confidence has evaporated - replaced by panic and fear. The loss is bitter and his friend's mistrust and rejection hurt more than Arthur would like to admit. He balls his hands into fists.

Leon approaches. "Are you alright, Sire?"

"There's nothing wrong with me." The monarch snaps. He rubs his head, looking at his second in command. "I'm not the one who stood on a trap," he adds softly. "It should never have happened, Leon. They're banned in Camelot."

"We're not in Camelot; we're in Essetir." Leon corrects.

" _What?"_

_How had he come so far?_  It was not safe to stay in this kingdom. Their presence here, if discovered, could provoke a war.  _Damn it!_

"When we found your horse we searched, but did not think you would have crossed the border and could not pick up the trail in the dark." Leon clarifies.

The curly-haired knight observes their surroundings and gestures at the small camp with raised eyebrows.

"Druids... they left before first light." Arthur explains curtly.

"They helped?"

"Yes." Arthur does not want to discuss what happened with the druids; he can't explain it, does not want to think about it right now, and is desperate for something productive to do. The need to get back to Camelot is pressing. He kicks dirt over the fire. "Come; we need to move."

* * *

The journey to the horses and over the border is slow and arduous. How Merlin had managed to negotiate such a distance on foot and for what purpose is still a mystery, but that's not important right now.

Arthur rolled his shoulder and adjusted his grip on the stretcher. Merlin may have been lighter than most, but he was still long-limbed and awkward to carry. They tried their best not to jar the injury but given the terrain it is inevitable. For the most part Merlin is unconscious, the earlier exertion taking it out of him, but when whimpers escape the servant's lips all the knights flinch.

Leon had had the foresight to bring a small medical bag and the pain relief Merlin received knocked him out, although he still mutters and thrashes in his sleep.

Arthur looks ahead, checking the route, but his gaze constantly travels back to his companion.

He feels a tug on his sleeve and finds Merlin staring at him.

"Arthur?"

The injured man's eyes are wide but glazed and full of confusion, especially when he tries to sit up and finds himself bound.

"We did not want you to fall off." Arthur explains quickly.

Merlin face contorts, breath hitching. "My leg."

"You caught it in a trap."

He looks blank for a moment then slowly nods in understanding. "How bad is it?"

The royal hesitates. "I've seen worse... much worse."

"On a corpse?"

"You're not going to die, Merlin."

"We've had this conversation before."

"Yes, and I was proven right."

"No need to get cocky."

Arthur manages a tight smile in response to Merlin's weak one; his friend is finally lucid  _but for how long?_  "We'll get you to Gaius." He reassures.

"Gaius! Gaius has... he's -"

"Save your energy, Merlin. There is still a distance to go."

There is another tug on his sleeve.

"What colour is it?"

"What?"

"What colour is my leg?"

Arthur frowns. "It's pink."

Merlin closes his eyes briefly and sighs, his fingers wrap tightly around Arthur's wrist. "Don't let it go black. Tell me if the flesh darkens."

"It's not black."  _Not yet._

He nods

"I feel woozy."

"That would be the medication; you're such a lightweight, Merlin."

"My leg... is cold - numb."

Arthur bites the inside of his cheek. He does not have a comeback for that and if he's honest he's worried about it but before he can answer, Merlin's words become slurred and incomprehensible. When he no longer responds, Arthur goes quiet and focuses on his feet. He can't bring himself to strike up conversation with the other knights so he just exchanges a concerned look with Leon and pushes on.

* * *

Merlin groans and semi-wakes as they load him onto Arthur's horse.

"I feel dizzy; wrong."

"Nearly there, Merlin."

"Are you mad at me?" He whispers.

Arthur cannot believe what he's hearing; this is not Merlin – his servant is a lot of things but never submissive.

"Of course not."

"I've caused a lot of trouble."

"That's nothing new." The jibe falls flat and the conversation starts to spiral.

"You're going to hurt me."

"What?" Arthur stops mid-way through securing the rope. "I – I would never hurt you."

"You throw things at me." It's not said in jest.

"That's different." Arthur falters then resumes the task, but he doesn't miss the way Merlin flinches when his hand gets too close.

"You're going to attack me."

"No, never. What makes you say such a thing?"

Merlin is silent and Arthur thinks he may have drifted off to sleep, then in a very quiet voice he answers.

"You would if you knew"

"Knew what?" The knight leans in.

Silence.

"Merlin?" Arthur rubs the servant's arm. "If I knew what?"

The servant jerks. "What colour is my leg?"

"It's pink, Merlin. If I knew what?"

"Don't let it go black."

"I won't."

Silence.

"Merlin?"

He does not respond.

"Come on, Merlin. We've been through worse," though the king has a hard time believing it.

There was never any debate as to which knight would take Merlin; Arthur climbs on the horse, wraps his arms around his servant and kicks his heels into the mare, urging the horse into a gallop - there is no time to lose.

* * *

Guinevere stands on the steps as the knights charge into the courtyard. Arthur dismounts and his wife rushes to meet him. The physician is conspicuously absent.  _Perhaps he's in his chambers awaiting our arrival?_

"Gaius?"

"He's not here."

The king only pauses for a moment as he and Leon ease Merlin off the horse and onto a waiting stretcher.

"What do you mean he's not here; where is he? I sent word for him to prepare for the worst!"

A crease appears on Gwen's forehead and she pats her husband's arm. "Gaius is in another village. We will have to manage for a few days before he can return."

In lieu of Gaius Merlin would take over, and although the king would never admit it he did a good job and was a worthy physician in his own right. Now they had no one – Merlin could hardly tend to himself and the knights only had the most rudimentary of skills. Guinevere had assisted Gaius in the past, of course, but not since she had been queen.

"Gaius will make it right" was the mantra he'd whispered to Merlin as he whimpered and thrashed - the words that forced them forward, driving the horses harder than was safe. And it was all for naught.  _What could they do now? What chance did he have?_

Guards lifted the servant's frail body up the steps, taking him to Gaius' empty chambers. Arthur's attention focused on a drop of blood on the flagstones; he saw and heard nothing else. Then he noticed another red spot, and another, and he ran into the castle following the macabre trail. He had no idea what to do, but he had to do something.

The druids may have abandoned them, but Arthur would not give up. Merlin could not die - he would not allow it.

* * *

TBC

_Hope you enjoyed that, let me know your thoughts._


	6. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur struggles with the management of Merlin's condition in the absence of a physician.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the support and comments; I really appreciate all your views!
> 
> Caldera32 is a wonderful and fantastic beta - I would be lost without her guidance.

 

Omens 6 Decisions

Arthur marches purposefully along the corridor to the physician's quarters; it takes a will of iron not to break into a run. Running would bring guards and questions and he did not want that. Exhausted after their return to Camelot, he'd refused to leave Merlin's bedside until Guinevere intervened. After eventually agreeing to take a short break he had awoken to find he'd slept for nearly twelve hours. He was furious and yelled at George for not waking him sooner until the tremulous servant had finally found the courage to explain it was the queen who had insisted he not be disturbed.

The king stops mid-stride as something flies into his face; Arthur swats it away, irritated by the interruption. It's only when he stops that he notices the buzzing and sees the black flies in stark contrast to the white stone. In the hotter months the castle was sometimes infested with the vile creatures but not at this time of year. Only when there was death and something to feast upon did they make an appearance. Swallowing down bile, Arthur breaks into a run and does not care who sees him.

Wrenching the door open, Arthur recoils at the foul smell that greets him; it is the stench of decay and has no place in an infirmary. He watches helplessly as Guinevere rings out a cloth and places it on Merlin's forehead. Save for the high flush of his cheeks, the servant's skin looks gray. He's still moving; in fact the man is restless, failing to be calmed by the queen's gentle words. She jumps as her husband puts a hand on her arm.

"Guinevere, you should not be doing this!"

Turning to face him, her brow crinkles."I was a servant long before I was a queen, Arthur. I want to help; he's my friend too!

"No - I…"

Arthur dips his chin, he'd only wanted to protect her.  _It's painful seeing Merlin in this state, to witness him suffering this way._ He was wrong to underestimate her; his wife is strong-willed and had dealt with many trials in her life with dignity and decorum - it's what makes her such a great monarch.

"I've changed the bandages; these will have to be burned." Guinevere points to the stained and putrid material lying in a bucket.

"He's not getting any better, is he?"

The queen coughs and smooths her hands over her dress. "Gaius will be back soon; he'll know what to do."

Merlin suddenly sits up, eyes glazed, and lunges for his leg but the former maid grabs his wrist.

"No, Merlin, you must leave it alone." She warns, guiding his arm back to his side and changing her grip so she holds his hand and is able to draw small circles on the back. The servant gives an involuntary shudder then relaxes in her hold, eyelids fluttering and falling shut.

The queen sighs. "It must be intolerable. I've given him some pain relief but he keeps trying to scratch at it - that would make things worse and he's only going to hurt himself."

"Or you, Guinevere."

The queen gasps. "Merlin would never hurt me! He hasn't got it in him."

"But he's not himself right now; he doesn't know where he is or who we are sometimes."

The image of Merlin, wide-eyed and terrified pops into Arthur's head unbidden and he struggles to banish the memory of his friend accusing him of trying to kill him.  _Why would he do that?_

"There must be something we can do."

"I've seen Gaius use straps to hold agitated patients down... It just seems so extreme."

Arthur flops into the seat next to his wife, head in his hands; she pulls him into an embrace and he takes comfort in her warmth. He speaks into her shoulder as if reluctant to voice his fears. "I should have done more."

She pulls away, catching hold of his hands. "What else could you have done, Arthur? He would probably be dead if you'd not gone after him."

"Druids were there, Guinevere."

"You said they helped."

"They did, but what if… what if they were holding back?"

"What do you mean?"

"They cleaned and dressed the wound but when I asked if there was anything more I was told they did not have the skills to heal him in any other way. In the morning they'd gone. Why would they do that? What if they lied? What if they were frightened of me, of the knights? What if I had not been there? They could have saved him."

"You don't know that, Arthur. You have been trying to make peace with them; they have no reason to fear you. Besides, Uther's threats never stopped them. Magic is a complicated and dangerous thing; we don't know how it works." She reaches up to touch his face. "Look, you can't talk like this; Merlin's not gone yet!" She says sternly.

"You're right, Guinevere. I used it to save my father and it killed him - I promised myself I would not be so foolish again. Thank you for making me see sense."

The door bangs and Merlin lets out a moan. "Arthur."

"Shush, Arthur is here."

Merlin thrashes and murmurs again but even listening closely it is indiscernible.

"What's he saying?"

"I don't know. The time he was poisoned it was the same - Gaius said it was part of the fever."

"Has he been doing it a lot?"

Guinevere wrings her hands then nods just as Merlin lets out another whimper and a pot crashes to the floor.

"This is ridiculous - it's freezing in here! Let me close the window."

"No. The breeze means things may keep getting broken, but the room needs ventilating and I'm struggling to keep his temperature down."

"Then let me take over; you have been here for too long as it is."

The queen bites her lip, she looks over at Merlin then back at her husband.

"I can manage, Guinevere."

Her features relax into a small smile. "Very well. You must not exhaust yourself, Arthur - you have a kingdom to run. Remember the other knights are worried too; they will sit with him."

Arthur does not respond immediately.

"He was in Essetir, Guinevere; what was he doing there? All those times he just disappeared for days on end I thought he was in the tavern, now I'm not so sure. How well do we really know him? Have you ever noticed he speaks incessantly but never says anything about himself?"

"I'm sure he will explain when he gets better."

"What if he doesn't get better?"

"Arthur, Merlin is strong – maybe not physically, but he's stubborn as a mule and if anyone can get through this it's him."

The king and queen hold each other. Separating, they kiss and Guinevere leaves.

Until Merlin came along Arthur had always prided himself on being stoic but somehow that gangly servant got under his skin and made him feel. His father believed showing emotion was a weakness. Guinevere said revealing his heart made him a better man, a better king - maybe it did, but being detached would make things a lot easier to deal with now.

Arthur paces back and forth in the small room. He glances at Merlin's scant belongings - the medical tomes, dried herbs, even the strange apparatus. He is responsible for all his subjects, he leads knights into battle and he negotiates with other leaders, but here in this tiny room it's all meaningless. He doesn't know what to do and feels totally inadequate.

Arthur is a man of action and has never been any good at doing nothing, so he pulls up the stool and tries to speak to Merlin. It's mainly nonsense and bravado.  _Nothing of real value._ Then he recounts their various adventures and tries to reason and bargain with him: if Arthur finally confesses to needing the idiot and telling him how brave and what a good friend he is... it doesn't matter since such admissions go unheard, even if a part of him wishes they didn't.

When Merlin thrashes and whimpers, Arthur holds him down. The act sickens him as considerable force is needed to stop the servant's struggles. Such measures will cause ugly bruises but he tells himself it's necessary.

In the end the king has to resort to securing Merlin's wrists with a spare sheet; he can't bring himself to use the leather cuffs, nor does he know where to find them. The skinny servant is harder to manage than the knight could have imagined and Arthur is tired. There is no other reason why he should lose his footing and end up on the floor, but at least the new arrangement leaves his hands free to administer medication.

Arthur pinches his nose; he's weary. He wants someone to blame for this mess but there's no one. Guinevere is right - what else could the druids have done even if they'd stayed? He could not have gotten to Merlin any quicker, would not even have known he was injured had it not been for the orb of light.  _Magic_. Arthur shudders; he still finds it hard to believe there is a sorcerer out there who does not want his head and is prepared to help -  _but where is he now?_

"Don't think you're getting away with this, Merlin. I want answers. I want to know what the hell you were doing out there."

Having shouted and squirmed for hours, the servant now chooses to be quiet.  _Bloody typical of Merlin; never shuts up until it's important._

Despite the difficulties, Arthur refuses to leave - even when Leon and Percival offer to take his place. Merlin's fever does not abate and he continues to toss, turn, and talk in his sleep. Arthur closes the window after another one of Gaius' pots crashes to the floor. With mounting unease, Arthur notes the changing colour and temperature of Merlin's leg; the signs are not good. He remembers the promise he made to his friend -  _don't let it go black_ \- but no matter what he does (and his choices are limited) Merlin's condition gets steadily worse.

* * *

Merlin fights to make sense of what is going on; all he knows is an unrelenting pain that is impossible to escape from. He can't work out where he is, senses overwhelmed by the terrible stench of rancid meat. He hears voices and recognises Arthur. There's shouting and arguments, the sounds of things smashing and whimpers and whispers that he can't decipher.

It's dark and panic rises until he realises he's too tired to open his eyes. He's sick; that much he can fathom.  _Why?_ He remembers fleeing to the forest but what from? What beast was chasing him? Suddenly there is a clear image of Arthur attacking. He remembers the images from the crystal.  _Did it happen? Is that why I ran and am in such agony? What did I do wrong?_  Everything is muddled but he does recall a bright ball of light and Arthur was definitely there - so were druids.  _Magic? Did Arthur find out about the magic?_

He cries out as another searing pain shoots up his leg; he tries to move and finds himself bound.  _It's cold and damp, there's a putrid smell, my hands are tied; am I in the dungeons? What if this is my true destiny and my death is the event that frees magic? can't be right; we're supposed to work together._ Merlin's heart starts to race.  _I don't want to die!_

He needs to think clearly to be able to argue his case. He can feel his gift beneath his skin; it feels wrong and blocked but at least it's not cut off completely. He knows using his own magic to heal himself is dangerous and Gaius has alway advocated against it but the risk is worth it - this is an emergency.

Merlin summons his magic and it pulses throughout his body, beginning to pool behind his eyes. He focuses, trying to locate the source of his pain. His gift is drawn to his leg. There is a flash of memory:  _pain, falling, leg caught in a trap_ ; another burst and he remembers calling for Arthur before the end. Arthur had been there, had answered his call, had come and helped him.

Merlin pushes out more magic but something is stopping it - iron. The trap was made of iron; the ring round his calf blocked his gift. The trap had been removed but some of the iron must still be in the wound because his magic is recoiling from where it's needed most.

As his magic recedes the fog of his mind clears and he remembers everything, realising he's in the infirmary. He is now free of the bonds that tied his wrists and he can hear Arthur shouting his name. He cannot respond, trying to summon his gift has exhausted him and rendered him mute.

Irony is cruel.  _I've brought this all on myself. Arthur is here, trying to help me, and I've just tried to use my magic._  Merlin does not have the energy to open his eyes; he's slipping into an abyss knowing this could be the act that makes Arthur attack him. He fights, scrabbles for the light, but fatigue wins and he's pulled into nightmares of his own.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed that. Next chapter we catch up with Merlin's vision and you will learn if your theories on what is going to happen are correct!_


	7. Desperate Times Require Desperate Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur takes drastic action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I started a new job last week as did my beta, so things have been a bit chaotic over the last few weeks. Many thanks to Caldera for managing to find the time to beta this.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, the comments, and kudos. This is where Merlin's vision comes to fruition; I really enjoyed writing this chapter, I hope you enjoy reading it.

 

Chapter 7 Desperate Times Require Desperate Measures

Arthur twirls Excalibur, watching the light bounce off the shiny surface and cast strange shadows on the wall. Merlin named it, a powerful title worthy of the greatest sword he's ever had; the balance is perfect, the blade never dulls - it's unique and unmatched. Only the best for Merlin. Still, he's not sure if he can go through with it.

The king sighs, gets up and starts to pace. He's waited for Gaius, putting off the inevitable for as long as possible, but the physician is not here and time is running out. After what he's discovered, he can't afford not to act and needs to find his courage before anyone can talk him out of it.

They would stop him if they knew, but Arthur has told no one of his intentions - it is the only way. They will hate him for what he has to do, but in time they will understand it was for the best.

Decision made, Arthur wipes his hands on his breeches, rolls his shoulders, and takes three deep breaths. He strides over to his servant and stops at his side.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I hoped it would never come to this."

He lifts the blade high above his head, closes his eyes while whispering apologies, and brings the sword down hard and fast.

* * *

The warlock jerks awake, chest pounding. Above him stands Arthur, his expression, grimly determined and his sword high.  _No, not now, this can't be happening!_

"I'm sorry." The king murmurs, eyes firmly closed as he brings the blade down hard and fast.

Merlin's irises burn gold, freezing time. The point of Arthur's sword is a hair's-breadth from his flesh. Shaking, he inches to the side so the king's weapon will miss and get firmly embedded in the cot. He has not the energy to move far but he can buy some bargaining time. He blinks and the blade continues on its trajectory, hitting the wood and sinking into the bed frame.

"Arthur!"

The king opens his eyes wide. "Merlin!"

Arthur wrestles with the sword as Merlin throws himself off the bed, yelling when he hits the floor and jars his leg.

"Merlin!"

Arthur has abandoned his sword and is charging toward the fallen servant.

Merlin tries to scramble backwards on his elbows. He grabs a stool, pulling it across his chest like a shield and holds up his other hand.

"You don't need to do this, Arthur. Please let me explain."

"I don't want to, but it has to be done."

"No."

"I'm trying to save you, Merlin. I need to get rid of it, before it poisons the rest of you."

"No. Arthur, please, you don't understand. I've only ever used it for good -"

The door bangs open, smashing against the stone. Gaius rushes in, flanked by Gwaine and Percival.

"Sire!"

Arthur turns towards the physician, willing the old man to understand. "I'm trying to save him."

Gaius's mouth falls open and his gaze flicks between the weapon stuck in the bed, his cowering ward, and the agitated royal.

"Explain." He demands curtly.

"Merlin injured his leg; we did our best to treat it but it's getting worse. The infection is spreading. He's delirious – I'm trying to save him."

"Save him?"

"His toes are dark purple, Gaius. I can find no pulse - you know what that means."

The physician gasps. "You were attempting an amputation?"

Arthur's shoulders sag and he nods. "Yes."

The room stills and an uncomfortable silence descends, save for Merlin's pained pants. Gwaine breaks it.

"Are you insane? Seriously, you were going to chop Merlin's leg off!" He yells, jabbing his finger at Arthur and sprinting over to the servant.

"Don't dare judge me; you weren't there! You didn't see him struggle or hear him shouting nonsense. I had to tie him down just to stop him hurting himself but he still thrashed so much he broke free and knocked himself out. It's rotting; can't you smell it? If it spreads it will kill him!"

"Let me be the judge of that." Gaius pushes past the royal and crouches down by his ward.

"Merlin?" He says, gently unpeeling his wards fingers and easing the stool away from the terrified man.

Merlin's eyes are wide, he's trembling and drenched in sweat. He looks at his knee and notices the tourniquet for the first time. Hysterical laughter escapes his lips. "Arthur wasn't trying to kill me!"

"Of course I wasn't! What -"

The royal is silenced by a stern glare from the physician.

Merlin chokes and suddenly sobers, grabbing Gaius' robe."I can't lose my leg, Gaius."

The physician does not answer; his attention is on the fetid bandages.

"I can't do  _my job_ without it!" Merlin pleads, pulling at the thin fabric of his mentor's shirt.

"Damn it, Merlin, that's hardly important right now," the royal interrupts.

"Sire! This is a clinical area, if you cannot conduct yourself accordingly you will have to leave."

Gaius untwines Merlin's fingers but they seize his wrist. "I-I need more time, Gaius."

Shaking free of his ward, the physician peels back the sodden bandages and recoils. "That may not be an option, Merlin."

There is the sound of the door banging and someone vomiting outside.

"But I'm strong; you  _know_  how strong I am."

"Yes, Merlin, but it's not always enough."

The shelves begin to rattle.

"Gaius, please, you know what I'm capable of -"

" _Merlin!_ " He warns.

The warlock is desperate, he needs to share his revelation, the reason he can't harness his magic properly. "There's still iron in the wound, Gaius. That's why it won't heal!"

Gaius nods then turns towards the knights. "Quick, help me get him on the table."

The physician swipes the contents onto the floor, clearing the area.

"No, Gaius, please." Merlin starts thrashing, tears in his eyes.

The open door slams, making a pot crash.

Gwaine grabs the servant's shoulders and Percival attempts to seize his legs but Merlin continues to fight, lashing out and landing a couple of punches as pots and books crash to the floor.

 

 

[](https://imgur.com/5amYW8b)

                                                                   

"Calm down, Merlin." Gaius hisses in his ward's ear. "I need to check the wound, that's all."

Merlin's movements become ineffectual, he's too exhausted to struggle and gives in. "Promise me, Gaius, please. You won't cut my leg off - I can't lose it."

"I can't lose you."

"You won't. There's iron in the wound."

The two knights manoeuvre him onto the table. Now that he's no longer fighting, all present can see the slight tremble of his frame and the way his ribs strain as he takes short, laboured breaths.

Gaius grabs a phial from one of the shelves then smoothes Merlin's forehead, wiping the dripping locks. "This will ease the pain."

Merlin shakes his head. "I don't want to fall asleep."

There is the sound of breaking glass as the tonic slips from the physician's grasp.

Gwaine pulls out his water skin, putting it to Merlin's lips. "It will help." He says, forcing his friend to swallow two mouthfuls.

"That's enough." Gaius instructs, placing a wooden tongue depressor between his ward's teeth. "Bite on this."

"Gwaine, fetch my knife. Place the blade in the fire and give me your skin."

The physician takes the container and pours the alcohol over his hands then carefully cuts the dressings away. The bandages pull at the skin, ripping at the scabs and making them bleed.

"I'm sorry, my boy." Gaius whispers as he pours more alcohol over Merlin's shin. His ward bucks violently but Gaius tells the knights to hold him down with a simple look.

"It's infected, Merlin, and if what you say is true I need to reopen the wound and clean it."

Merlin finally nods, salt rivers escaping the sides of his eyes and tracking down his face.

Gaius takes a sterilised knife, inserting the tip at the edge of the stitches and undoing the first. The gash reopens, putrid pus oozing out, more alcohol is applied and Merlin lets out a muffled scream as his head and shoulders repeatedly slam against the table.

"I need more light."

Arthur holds a torch, grateful for something useful to do and not wanting to be the one to hold the struggling servant down.

"There! Pass me the tweezers; dip the ends in the fire." The physician instructs.

Taking the instrument, Gaius uses it to delve into the rancid tissues; he retrieves a slither of black iron, no bigger than a fingertip. Sterilising the tweezers Gaius goes into the wound again and produces a second smaller piece of iron.

The king gapes. "How could that be missed!"

Guais answers but does not stop his ministrations. "If the trap was old and dirty, the teeth would have torn into the flash and fragments of metal would have been embedded deep into the fascia. It takes time for the body to reject them and bring them to the surface. To save Merlin's life, stopping the blood loss and closing the wound were the priority. I believe the injury was treated as best it could be at the time and under the circumstances."

After examining the tissues and pouring on more alcohol, he declares, "that is all of it". He looks at his ward and nods at him, then turns to Arthur. "It needs debridement but for that Merlin will need much stronger pain relief."

Merlin vehemently shakes his head, eyes wide.

"Yes, Merlin. I insist."

Merlin spits out the bit. "NO!"

"Sire, if I could ask you to get the camphor, please"

Arthur reaches for the bottle but drops it; fast reflexes allow him to catch the container before it smashes. He uncorks it, pouring some of the strong-smelling fluid onto a clean cloth. Keeping it as far from his own face as possible, he walks toward Merlin.

"No, Arthur, please."

"It's for your own good."

"Promise me I won't lose my leg when I'm asleep."

"Gaius will do all he can."

"Promise me!"

"I can't.

The royal places the rag over Merlin's mouth. He watches as Merlin's deep blue eyes lock with his, full of defiance and betrayal. He tries not to gag as Merlin's jerking ceases and his irises dim and roll back.

"I'm sorry." He whispers at the limp form.

"Can you save it, Gaius?"

"I don't know, Sire. If I can remove the necrotic tissue there may be a chance now that the source of infection is gone."

Gaius washes his hands and gets the instruments ready.

"Is there anything more we can do?"

"I thank you all for your help, but I can manage from here."

"Are you sure, Gaius? Merlin was surprisingly strong; I really struggled to hold him. I -"

"Thank you, Gwaine." The old man began steering the knight towards the door.

"Perhaps Guinevere would be able to lend her sewing skills. Her eyes are sharp and her fingers nimble. I know she wants to help."

"That is very gracious, Sire, but the queen has done so much already. I am an experienced physician and this procedure is delicate and best done alone."

"Of course, Gaius. I meant no offence."

Reluctantly, the knights and the king leave.

* * *

Gaius washes his hands; he has done all he can. He stripped away the necrotic tissue so all that remains is healthy. There is a chance to save the leg but at what cost? Much of the muscle mass is gone, it will be tantamount to useless and no doubt a constant source of pain.

Gaius runs his hand through his ward's hair.

"I'm sorry, my boy. What I would give to have your power and make things right. All you told me and I dismissed has come to pass. Please forgive an old man."

He bends down and kisses Merlin's forehead. Righting himself, he holds his hand over a mortar containing crushed herbs and begins to chant. The contents bubble and the physician steadies his ward's chin and pours the green fluid into his throat, gently massaging until Merlin swallows.

The spell should get rid of any lingering infection and aid the healing, but it's too little too late.

There is a pungent aroma of rosemary and other fragrant herbs as Merlin stirs but the only thing he is aware of is the pain in his leg and the need to check it's still there. Craning his neck he can see the heavily-bandaged appendage. He desperately tries to move his toes which only brings bile to the back of his throat, the offending limb remaining limp and useless.

He can't live with his leg like this. He can't fulfill his destiny. There will be a cost to healing the limb, but he can see no alternative.

* * *

Merlin closes his eyes, focusing on his magic; he tries to gather the gold but it slips through his grasp. Undeterred he imagines each strand, pulling them together and forcing his gift into his lower limb. He has seen enough cadavers to know the anatomy of the muscles, the two heads of gastrocnemius and soleus, thus he starts the process of mending his tattered flesh. He sees gold wrap itself around broken vessels and fibres, forming them anew, filling out the calf and replacing the missing fascia. Finally he feels his magic and blood circulate and warmth reach his toes. The whole process has robbed him of his energy. Exhausted, he slips into a black abyss only knowing his limb is safe.

* * *

Arthur rubs his nose and becomes aware of the slight tremor in his hands. Only now does he register the aches in his joints and the weight of fatigue in his limbs. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh.  _How close I came to permanently maiming my friend._  The thought of what could have happened tightens his throat and causes his stomach to twist.  _Would Merlin have ever forgiven me?_ He had told himself it was better to lose the friendship than the man and he sticks by that; he would never have forgiven himself if Merlin had died. Even with Gaius' expert care Merlin's future is not certain.

A king is supposed to protect all his subjects, to know everything that is going on in his realm, and he failed - not only as a monarch but as a friend. Merlin runs away to another kingdom in the middle of the night and he has no idea why nor does he know the reason the delirium made Merlin fear him and no one else. Arthur wants answers. He needs to understand the man he thought he knew and whatever happens Arthur won't rest until he finds out - until he solves the enigma that is Merlin.

* * *

TBC

_So, who guessed what was going to happen? I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions on all that has gone on and what you think will happen next!_

 


	8. Answers and Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur questions Merlin about the incident in the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos. Special thanks to Caldera who, despite being really busy herself, managed to find time to beta this.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, it ends on a bit of a cliffhanger!

 

Chapter 8 Answers and Surprises

It's been three days and Merlin still hasn't woken up. Gone is the constant movement and muttering, instead he is unnaturally still. It was a relief at first, finally seeing his servant so peaceful, but it has gone on far too long.

Arthur is used to Merlin's exuberance and constant fidgeting. He's flung things at him in the past to stop the perpetual movement but, irritating as it can be, its absence is more perturbing. A tight knot forms in Arthur's stomach which he tries to ignore.

In a strange reversal of the norm, Merlin's calmness is in stark contrast to a chaotic room - the king did not remember how so many of Gaius' things got broken and rearranged but then his attention had been elsewhere.

Since the physician's return there has been much progress; the awful odour has dissipated, replaced with the familiar fragrance of herbs, Merlin's fever has receded and the erythema and swelling of his lower leg has reduced. The flesh has knitted together nicely, scabbing over and no longer oozing or causing concern.

When Gaius undid the bandages Arthur heard him gasp. Fearing the worst, he'd rushed over to look before the physician could stop him. It was far from fully-healed and there would always be extensive scarring but the appearance of the skin was remarkable. Merlin had miraculously managed to retain most of his calf's muscle mass, the tissue recovery was better than he could have ever expected -  _and to think what I almost did!_

Arthur visited daily; it was unnerving to be so close to Merlin and for things to be so quiet – the man hated silence and always filled the gaps with inane chatter. Despite his complaints, Arthur missed it now that it was gone.

The king used the time to think. He'd come so close to losing Merlin, first to the initial injury and then infection. Saving him eclipsed everything to the point he'd even considered magic and amputation as viable options.  _When did this man become so important? Why did I suddenly risk my beliefs for a lowly servant?_  Merlin is not just a servant; he is so much more - his opinion and faith greater than any noble or dignitary. He's a confidant, a brother, and Arthur's best friend.

As the royal makes the journey towards the physician's quarters yet again he thinks about Merlin's threadbare blanket and cold room. Never has a man so worthy had so little bestowed upon him. He needs to show Merlin his value somehow - not by directly telling him of course, that would never do, but there has to be a way.

One thought plays repeatedly on the royal's mind: what was Merlin doing deep in the forest so late at night? The answer was not a priority initially, but now that it's clear Merlin will pull through the issue has become a burning obsession that can only be quelled by one man.

They are close, spend most of their time in each others' company, and yet Merlin is still a conundrum; a wise fool, a brave coward. It's not just his contrasting behaviour, it's the attitudes he evokes in others. People of every status, from kitchen maids to nobles, ask after his recuperation. Then there was the way the druids had reacted to him – with awe. At first Arthur had thought their reverence was for himself, but it wasn't. It was for Merlin.  _Why?_

In fairness, he still knows little of how the mysterious community conducts itself. Up until recently they had always seemed a threat and an enemy. The druids they'd encountered in the forest had shown him nothing but respect and kindness -  _until they unexpectedly left, but who could blame them for that?_ The more he learned, the more ashamed he felt for the wrongs his father and he had caused the druid people.

A crash followed by a loud cuss catches Arthur's attention.  _Could Merlin finally be awake?_  The king hurries his step and flings the door to Gaius' quarters open.

A mop of black hair pokes out of a moving mass of blankets that is attempting to pick up a broken bowl whilst balancing on one leg.

"Should you be doing that?" The king booms, taking some small delight in the way the servant jumps and loses his covers.

"Arthur!"

Merlin looks up sheepishly, struggling to gather the fallen blankets. "Gaius said I can start to load my leg – nothing too strenuous, but enough to help with the healing."

The royal raises an eyebrow as he helps the wavering man sit down. "Did he?"

"Yes." Merlin flushes and tries to hide the wince as he flops back in the chair.

"You are such a terrible liar." Arthur can't help a small smile ruining his stern face.

"I was feeling better!"

"So is this your way of telling me you're ready to come back to work?"

Merlin's pouts, then his mouth stretches into a grin. "Is George not up to my standards?" The servant quips.

"He surpasses them in every way."

Merlin's face falls. "Oh."

"Except verbally - he has rather limited topics of conversation."

Merlin lets out a huff and his lips twitch. "Must be bad if you would rather spend time with someone unconscious - or did you just miss me?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. The man was driving me mad. I came down here for some peace and to work on my reports."

Merlin says nothing about the distinct lack of papers in Arthur's hands.

It's quiet for a moment, the silence becoming awkward.

"I need to thank you, Arthur, for finding me and letting the druids heal me."

"They did not heal you, conventional medicine did. It was Gaius and his knowledge. If he'd not intervened…" Arthur trailed off looking out the window. "That's where our faith has to be - in the new ways. It was a mistake to consider anything else."

"You considered?"

Arthur regrets the slip and shrugs his shoulders, refusing to look his servant in the eye. "The condition of your leg was critical, Merlin... Gaius was not there… I…" He coughs, turning to face his friend. "It does not matter now; you will be back to work in no time." The royal concluded briskly, effectively halting any further discussion.

"You're right; Gaius is an excellent physician." Merlin mutters, losing the wide smile he had moments before.

The levity of the initial conversation is gone, replaced by something more somber, a heaviness descends like burgeoning storm clouds.

The king observes his servant; this is the first time in days Merlin has been fully awake, that he's looked even remotely healthy. The man is obviously tired, far from recovered, and Gaius would kick him out if he knew but the physician is elsewhere and Arthur can't let it go. He needs answers.

The royal pulls up a chair and sits down. He has no intention of leaving until he has got to the bottom of what went on that night in the forest.

* * *

"Why were you out there, Merlin?"

"What?" Merlin's heart pounds, and his mouth goes dry.

"Why were you in the forest so far from Camelot at that time of night?"

"I-I..." His quick wits desert him; he can't think of a plausible excuse, he can't even come up with an outlandish one.

"I know you weren't picking herbs in the dark and you were a long way from the tavern." Arthur adds curtly, folding his arms.

Merlin's head spins; he only regained full consciousness the previous day. After Gaius reprimanded him for using his magic to heal himself, his mentor summarised all that had occurred since his injury and Merlin is still trying to process it. He's exhausted and wonders if he can play on his fatigue to buy himself time. He needs to be stronger, he needs time to think, but Arthur has that hungry look he gets when he's hunting and Merlin knows it won't happen. According to Gaius Arthur has been visiting regularly and has evidently been waiting several days for this conversation.

"It's not important."

"It's not? Your king risks his own safety travelling into another kingdom, a dangerous part of the forest, in the dead of night to rescue you – but that's not important?"

"Another kingdom?"

"Esstair."

Merlin stares at his hands and fiddles with a thread on his sleeve."I'm sorry. I did not realise I'd gone so far."

"That's not an answer."

"I know."

"Well, why then?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try."

There is an uncomfortable silence.

"The Crystal of Neahtid." He whispers.

"What?"

"The Crystal of Neahtid"

Arthur stands up, "It's been stolen? You were following someone -"

"No. It's still in the vaults." Merlin's voice is strained.

He inwardly curses; Arthur has just provided a perfect excuse, except the crystal is not lost and sending knights after it would only end in disaster.

"Then what's the problem?"

"I helped Gwaine to move some artefacts last week... while I was in the vaults I knocked some things over -"

Arthur pounds his fist down on the table. "Damn it, Merlin, you broke it didn't you? You clumsy oaf, you smashed it and ran away? What did you think I was going to do?" Obvious hurt that his friend could think such a thing is etched on the king's face.

Merlin pulls at his hair.  _Maybe that's the answer; I could destroy it, say I smashed it last week. Something like that should not exist._  An escape strategy starts to form in Merlin's mind but the door is swiftly slammed.

Arthur is tapping his chin. "There was an inventory two days ago; nothing was reported missing. Have I been lied to?"

The warlock can't stand the deception or the thought someone else could get into trouble.

"I touched it." He blurts out.

It's quiet for a moment then Arthur speaks very slowly. "So? I touched it years ago. It was no more than a rock to me."

It's almost indiscernible but Merlin shakes his head.

A frown appears on the king's face, voice louder. "What's this about, Merlin? I don't even know what the damn thing does. Gaius told my father it was only useful to those with powerful magic... Father insisted it was dangerous, some kind of weapon and should not fall into enemy hands – you were there; you know this."

Merlin nods.

"Then what's going on, what have you done?" Arthur's tone becomes harsh and accusatory; he stands with his hands on his hips.

"Nothing."

"Then -"

"The crystal, it is said to hold the knowledge of what is, what has been, and what is yet to come." Merlin explains in a tsunami of words.

The royal just stares.

Merlin's heart franticly bangs against his ribs but he continues. "It can predict the future – a possible future."

"Are you trying to say  _you_ saw something?"

He does not answer right away.

"Merlin?"

"It was an accident." He whispers.

"So it is broken?"

Merlin shakes his head, clasping his sides and rocking back and forth. "I tried not to."

"Tried not to what?"

"See."

"What did you see?"

"I didn't even take it out of the bag." His voice wavers.

"What did you see, Merlin?"

He looks up, the rims of his eyes pink and glistening; there is a visible tremble in his fingers.

"Merlin?"

"I saw you... I saw you, standing above me with a sword; you said sorry then brought it down... I - I... thought you were going to kill me."

Arthur is quiet at first. "Kill you? Some magical trickery and you believed it and ran away?"

"It's not a trick."

"You thought I would do that? You did not trust me enough to even discuss it, just up and left?"

"I was not running away."

"You judged me for something I had not done?"

With each statement Arthur's voice had got louder.

"What was I supposed to do, Arthur? Wait until the blade was in your hand? I was trying to understand and stop it happening."

"You could have spoken to me, trusted me?"

" _I tried."_

"When?" Arthur gestures at the ceiling.

"I, I tried to guage your opinion."

"On what?"

"On magic."

The king suddenly stops in his tracks and Merlin thinks he may have inadvertently frozen time until Arthur shakes his head.

"That's hardly the same thing, Merlin!" He slaps his hands down on a table. "That's like asking me for a hypothetical battle strategy - it does not mean that's precisely what I'll do if the situation occurs."

"What do you suggest? Tell you I'd had a vision from a magical crystal?" Merlin is shouting now.

"You did not give me a chance."

"You don't trust magic."

"With good reason!" Arthur is livid.

"I saw myself covered in blood and convulsing in agony. I saw you trying to kill me!"

"I wasn't!"

"That's not what it looked like!"

"Damn it, Merlin. I was trying to save you." Arthur grits out.

"Well how the hell was I supposed to know you were only trying to chop my leg off!"

"That didn't happen either!"

"I know."

Merlin is crestfallen, shoulders straining, breathing hard. When he calms he explains. "Visions are notoriously difficult to interpret, only half-truths of possible outcomes."

"You seem very well-informed." Arthur says tightly.

The warlock gestures at the book shelves. "Gaius' tomes only have limited information, as does the library. I, I wanted to speak to someone who could explain what was going on."

"The druids?"

He nods, not looking up. "Only in my haste, I stepped on a trap and fulfilled my own prophecy." He says bitterly.

For a long time Arthur just sits with his chin resting on his hands; when he finally speaks it's slow and deliberate. "How is it you could use the crystal?"

"I wasn't trying to use it - I just held it."

"That's not what I asked. How was it possible?"

"I think you know how."

"Tell me." Arthur is staring at him, mouth a grim line.

"I don't think you want to know."

"I am your king and you will answer the question."

Merlin looks directly at Arthur.

"Merlin?"

In the last week Merlin has lived fearing Arthur was going to kill him, that he'd failed his destiny. Could the truth be worse? Keeping secrets is what got him into this mess, he needs to be honest but his heart pounds so fast he's trembling, dizzy, and his throat constricts.

"Tell me."

The servant bites his lip, squeezes his hands into fists and releases them. His gaze flicks around the room then settles on the king.

"I have magic, Arthur. I've always had it."

* * *

TBC

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone predict that? Let me know your thoughts and theories for what will happen next.


	9. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tries to cope with the knowledge Merlin has magic.

Chapter 9 Consequences

Arthur cannot register what he has just been told. His mouth hangs open and he stares at Merlin as if the young man will suddenly break into a grin and declare it all a joke. He doesn't. Merlin holds his gaze until the king himself has to break it.

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin; I would know if you were a sorcerer." He challenges.

"I'm good at hiding things." The servant chokes.

"You're not, you're a terrible liar." Arthur shakes his head and gets up from the table. "I would know." He says again, turning his back, completely static. After a moment he shrugs his shoulders then strides purposefully towards the door.

"I think you always have." The warlock whispers, broken.

Arthur freezes with his hand on the latch. He does not turn back but he does slam the door as he leaves.

Outside, he leans against the wall and grabs his head trying to get his breathing under control and stave off the moisture that builds in the corners of his eyes. He turns, punching the wall - pain radiates up his arm but he welcomes it, hitting the wall again and again. His blurring vision and the smears of crimson against the stone are not enough to make him stop. His knuckles are bleeding and starting to swell; he should be in agony but feels nothing. He's completely empty.

"Arthur?"

He doesn't answer but stills in response to hearing his name. There's no one in the corridor; the voice comes from within Gaius' chambers.

"Sire!"

Arthur wipes his face and slows his breathing.

"Sire!"

There is the sound of a chair scraping followed by a loud crash, a yell, then silence. Arthur tries to walk away but he can't, he makes ten paces before he heads back.

_Damn you, Merlin!_

The royal wrenches the door open and stops in his tracks. Merlin is lying face down on the floor, a red stain blooms on the bandages of his lower leg, a shard of bone sticks up through the dressings explaining the odd angle of his foot. Arthur is both repulsed and compelled to aid the man he's called a friend for so many years.

Merlin groans and tries to push himself up but collapses back on his stomach like a floundering fish. It's pathetic and Arthur can't stand to watch. He strides over and grabs Merlin's shoulders, forcefully rolling him onto his back and making him yelp.

His servant stares wide-eyed. "Arthur?"

The royal is overcome with rage that, even now, Merlin can make him care. He's angry at himself for being fooled, duped into thinking his servant was weak and vulnerable when all the time he had magic.

"You're a sorcerer - heal it!" He snaps with uncharacteristic venom.

"It's, it's not that simple."

"Is it not possible for someone like you?"

"Yes, but -"

"Then do it!" His tone brooks no argument.

"It needs to be set."

"Fine!"

Arthur grabs Merlin's ankle, pulling hard and rotating the servant's foot. He ignores the scream and sickening crunch. Instead he focuses on the disappearing bone, the spring back and feel of resistance as the fibula is realigned. He holds the leg in place and nods at Merlin with cold eyes before turning away.

To think how guilty he'd felt at almost chopping Merlin's leg off! The unbridled relief when Gaius saved the limb, how amazed and pleased he'd been when it healed so quickly afterwards. Merlin's miraculous recovery is no longer a mystery -  _you've done this before!_ Arthur's head shoots up, ready to make the accusation, but his servant's appearance stops the air in his chest. Merlin's eyes are red and puffy, his skin is gray and he looks close to vomiting.

Arthur shouldn't care and he tells himself he doesn't. His father warned him about this, told him the price of being a royal was to trust no one and have no friends. He was supposed to keep his distance, to always observe the proper protocol, but he didn't - he'd let Merlin in. He'd let tears fall for this man, albeit in privacy, but the humiliation cuts just the same. Merlin knows him better than anyone; Arthur has trusted him with his deepest secrets and fears. To think the sorcerer was just laughing at them whilst they ran around feeling useless and holding a bedside vigil. All this time Merlin has had the power to heal himself and it makes Arthur want to retch.

"Get on with it!" Arthur snaps.

Merlin coughs, his throat catching as he tries to speak. He clears it, then holds out shaky hands, placing them against his thigh.

" **þurhhæle dolgbenn."**

Arthur winces as Merlin's deep blue eyes flash gold. Nothing happens.

" **Licsar gehæle nu! Wel cene hole!"**

Nothing.

Merlin's breathing is laboured and his forehead beads with sweat.

" **Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare mid þam sundorcræftas þære ealdaþ!"**

This time, the sorcerer's voice is guttural, giving Arthur gooseflesh. Merlin's eyes flood with gold, impossibly bright and even Arthur can feel the vibration of pure power as it travels from Merlin's palms, down the leg and into the wound. The bandages are still in place but Arthur knows it has worked and he can't help but be awed.

[](https://imgur.com/BAUwHMH)

  

"You did it!"

There is no reply.

Arthur looks up; Merlin is slack-jawed and a trail of blood trickles from his nose. Bright-red in stark contrast to ashen skin.

"Merlin?"

Arthur lets go of the leg, a residual tingle still pulsing through his flesh. He presses two fingers to Merlin's jugular, a faint pulse present.

"What happened?"

Arthur starts, head whipping around. He had no idea the physician had entered the room. Gaius pushes past Arthur with calm but deliberate efficiency. He steadies Merlin's lolling head and checks beneath his eyelids.

"He was getting better!" Gaius mutters under his breath.

Still shocked, Arthur does not disclose his new knowledge. He stands unable to move, watching the medical exam.

Gaius spies the bloodied bandages. "What happened?"

"He, he fell." Arthur supplies.

"How?"

"I was outside and heard a crash. He was on the floor when I came in."

The physician brushes away a stray lock from Merlin's forehead. "I told you not to push yourself." He chastises gently.

Gaius turns his attention to the dressings; deft fingers unwrap Merlin's leg. Gaius' body shields Arthur's view but the king sees the physician's shoulders tense.

"Sire, could I trouble you to ask one of the guards to fetch me some water? I'd do it myself but I don't want to leave Merlin in this state and my legs are not as quick as yours."

"Of course." Arthur says, pivoting towards the exit. He is amazed at the calmness of his own voice.

The royal makes a point of banging the door so the latch doesn't catch and takes a couple of paces, deliberately creating as much noise as possible before returning with all the stealth of the hunter he is. Through the gap he observes Gaius removing all the dressings. There are plenty of rusty flakes but no fresh blood, most of the scabs have dropped off and the skin is pink, shiny, and healthy - the injury appears months old, not mere moments.

"Oh my boy, what have you done?" Gaius whispers, rubbing his face. "How could you be so foolish? I warned you healing yourself was dangerous."

Arthur pulls away from the door, bile rising in his throat.  _Gaius knows? Of course he does._ Arthur slides down the wall, clasping his hands and sitting for quite some time before forcing himself up. He can't stay; he needs to release the rage that's flowing through his veins and threatening to erupt.

Turning towards the wall he sees streaks of crimson on the white stone and looks down at his fist. Gone are the cuts and grazes; brushing away the dried blood reveals skin that is completely healed. Arthur moves his left wrist experimentally, it had often clicked and given a spasm of pain if he moved it in a certain way – not any more. The small nicks and scratches picked up in training over the years have also vanished.

His hands are trembling; he hears Guais calling his name but he can't go back. Before he's even processed what's happening Arthur is running toward the training fields.

* * *

Sweat stings his eyes but still he does not stop. His shoulders ache but he continues to hack at the training dummy; any semblance of his usual grace is gone, just brute force remains as blow after blow rains down on the straw manikin. Arthur swings back his sword with a swish and decapitates his foe, watching as the head sails through the air and comes to rest at Gwaine's feet.

Startled, the knight bends over and picks up the straw head, waving it tentatively like a white flag.

"Permission to approach?"

"Go away, Gwaine."

The royal starts to stab what's left of the practice dummy.

The rugged knight frowns and slowly walks forward. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm busy, Gwaine."

"Has Merlin woken up yet?"

Arthur pauses. "Merlin's fine!" He snorts, slicing off the arm of the straw man.

Gwaine looks puzzled by the outburst. He places his hand gently on Arthur's shoulder.

"Listen, we are all worried about him. It's alright to -"

"He's fine, Gwaine." Arthur snaps spinning around to face the knight, face flushed and dripping with sweat. "Merlin may pretend to be weak, makes fools of us all, but he is a lot stronger than we think."

"Pretend?" The knight says accusingly. "He was not pretending when he collapsed in the vaults a week ago!"

"What?"

"Oh, did you not realise that! Did you not notice how he's been recently? How about the time I found him slumped in the armoury gone midnight; I thought he'd been attacked!"

Arthur pauses for a moment, "He wasn't, was he?"

Gwaine snorts. "He'd fallen asleep, head-butted the floor surrounded by breastplates and wrist bracers. Want to know the best part? He did not want you to know, said you had more important things to worry about! He never stops and barely has time to eat, Arthur. The amount he consumes would not keep a flea going and yet he's run ragged all the time. He's supposed to be your personal servant and the animals get more rest and food than he does. Is it any wonder he's not recovering fast -"

"Enough!" Arthur holds up his hand then pushes past the knight.

As the king storms away, he wonders why he did not defend himself. Why he did not say anything about the magic. Merlin has deceived everyone, he is a sorcerer and deserves no pity. Perhaps his silence is because he knows Gwaine wouldn't care.

 _Maybe Gwaine knows already? Perhaps they're all in on it?_ The thought makes his stomach twist.

* * *

Arthur had locked himself in a far-off corner of the castle. No one can find him. It's his secret place - a place he'd not needed to visit since childhood and then only when it was necessary to get away from his father.

Arthur is an adult and a king; he can't hide. He has never run away from his problems, no matter how unpalatable. He has to face them head on. Arthur needs to question Merlin again.

* * *

He makes his way back to the physician's quarters, emotions still high but controlled. He's about to push open the door when he hears Gaius.

"Why, Merlin? Why do this to yourself?"

Arthur peers through the door expecting to see Merlin sitting up, talking to his mentor but he's laid out on the bed as still as stone.

"This batch has more Hawthorne in it."

Gaius cradles his ward's head and tips a fizzing green liquid into his mouth, gently massaging his throat to help him swallow. He wipes Merlin's face then sits back and drums his fingers on the table.

Arthur notices an array of bottles and bowls containing foul-looking preparations.

"Right, Merlin, time to test your responses again."

He has a small knife and is pricking his ward's fingers, drawing small beads of blood but no further reaction. He grabs a lightweight hammer and taps the tendons of Merlin's elbows and knees then runs the the pointed end along the sole of his foot but there's no reflex - the joints don't jerk. Gaius lets out a sigh, he lifts Merlin's eyelids and holds a candle up to the pupils. Nothing. The physician flops down, placing his head in his hands.

"Oh my boy." Gaius holds Merlin's limp hand and rubs his chest. "What have you done?"

Arthur falls back against the wall.

"What have I done?"

* * *

TBC

_Well, what do you think?_

Spells

Þurhhæle dolgbenn. Heal thoroughly the wound.

Licsar gehæle nu! Heal the mortal wound now!

Wel cene hole. Do good to the perforation.

Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare mid þam sundorcræftas þære ealdaþ! I heal you thoroughly from your mortal wound with the special powers that are ancient!


	10. Home Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur discovers some of Merlin's secrets and has to make a decision that will have far reaching consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the penultimate chapter!

Chapter 10: Home Truths

Arthur can’t help staring at his hands. He flexes and extends his fingers examining the backs then the palms, new callouses and cuts mar them now but the old aches and pains never return. He shudders, remembering the warmth and tingle of Merlin’s magic as it brushed against his skin. He’s been touched by magic before; thrown against walls, subjected to horrific pain and made to see, feel, and do what was not his will. Merlin’s magic was different; not at all what he expected and yet familiar - that in itself unnerves him. Arthur’s fist crashed against his thigh, he does not want to pursue these thoughts, does not like where they lead him - nor does he want the images that continue to plague him and keep him awake at night. He tries to forget Merlin’s distraught expression and blazing golden eyes, his grey face with blood trickling from his nose, but he can’t.

Four days pass before Arthur can go back. He’s heard the rumours and tried to stay away but the pull is too great. He has to see for himself.

The king pushes open the door to see Merlin laid out on the bed, still and pale. There is no shroud but the sight of his former friend sucks the air from Arthur’s lungs. A tight band forms around his own chest as he stares intently at Merlin’s, waiting for him to inhale - once he has Arthur allows himself to breathe again.

He is not sure how long he stands there, paralysed, conflicted and trying to make sense of a man he thought he knew.

Merlin has been unresponsive since the incident. Gaius has managed to get some potions and honeyed water into him but it is not enough. Merlin’s cheeks are hollow and the silhouette of his ribs is clearly visible beneath stretched skin - surely he could not go on for much longer, unless there is a change.

Arthur’s kept Merlin’s secret to himself; he can’t explain why he hasn’t disclosed it.  His knights and wife have attributed his demeanour to concern over Merlin’s well-being and the king has not corrected those assumptions. He has needed the time to be alone and think, even pushing Guinevere away and pointedly ignoring Gwaine.

Keeping his distance has inadvertently appeased the council; apparently there had been some discord at the amount of time their king had devoted to a mere peasant. Personal servant or not, the close proximity had been seen as improper. The royal lets out a snort, shaking his head. By the gods, if they knew the truth!

A small cough pulls Arthur from his trance.

“Sire?”

“How is he, Gaius?” He says automatically.

“Stable.”

“Has he woken yet?”

“No.”

“It’s been five days – is he going to?”

Arthur dreads the answer. Have my actions already condemned the man before he’s even had a chance to explain himself?  To a knight, honour and principle are everything; yet in his initial fury he had denied Merlin the basic right to speak. Tendrils of shame coil ‘round the king but before they can fully take hold Gaius interrupts.

“An unexpected setback but I hope there will be a sign soon.”

The king does not acknowledge the answer; he stands still, lost in his own thoughts.

“Have there been any changes?” He eventually manages, when the silence stretches too long.

“Some - he’s responding to light and sounds now, there are occasional movements too but I still have to turn him to prevent bed sores.”

Arthur never wanted this. When Merlin confessed he’d been angry and lashed out. The truth hurt and he had wanted to hurt in return but not this. He would not wish this state on his worst enemy.

“Why is he like this?”

Gaius gestures to a chair. The king takes it and the physician sits beside him.

“I cannot say for certain, but sometimes the body heals best while it is asleep and Merlin has been through a lot.”

Arthur is amazed at how economical Gaius can be with the truth. He supposes it has always been this way but he never noticed before. How could I be deceived so easily?

“We must have faith he will recover.” The physician encourages, patting Arthur’s leg, but the gesture brings no comfort.

“When I found him I did not think he would.”  Arthur finds himself saying. I would have done anything to save him then, risked everything, and now...?

“There is no denying the severity of the injury, Sire. If you had not been there he may well have perished.”

Perhaps that would have been better? I could have mourned a hero, not a broken friendship and a betrayal. Arthur shakes his head, not wanting to give the notion credence. It almost seems safer to voice his thoughts rather than let them swirl and become ever darker.

“When the druids appeared, I thought it would be alright... that they could help him.”

“They did.”

“I thought they could have done more.”

Things had changed so much within the space of days. Knowing the damage and pain magic brought, he’d still been desperate to use it to save Merlin; he’d even been angry with the druids for withholding it. Yet if he could accept magic then, why could he not accept Merlin having it now? Because he lied; he did not trust me and he’s not the man I thought he was.

“The wound was attended to, what else could be done?”

Arthur is startled from his thoughts. “What?”

“The injury was treated appropriately given the circumstances, Sire.”

“It does not matter. I was a fool; I see that now.” Arthur acknowledges, shaking his head.

The physician sighs. “Because you were prepared to use magic to heal him?”

Arthur does not speak, he does not have to - the set of his face says it all.

Gaius places a hand on his shoulder. “It takes a lot of courage to ask for help,” the physician pauses, “to challenge your beliefs. I’m proud of you, Arthur.”

The compliment tastes sour. Arthur retracts his shoulder, pulling away and standing abruptly.  “They would not do it. I thought it was because of who I am, that they were scared.”

This is what really hurt, that Arthur had been prepared to forgo his beliefs and beg for help and all the time Merlin had the ability to save himself. Another voice challenges that assumption. Then why didn't he? Why is he like this now - an empty shell? Why wouldn't the druids help one of their own?

The physician rubs his face. “Sit down, Arthur.”

Once the king is settled Gaius began.

“Arthur, because of all that happened with your father you have never known the true extent of what it means to have magic. Herbology may be common now, but even before the purge few had the skills required for direct healing. It is notoriously difficult and available only to the very powerful or those specifically gifted in that area.”

“Why?”

The physician hesitates as if suspicious of the king’s sudden interest.

“Gaius?”

“In much the same way as it is easier to destroy something than build it. It takes time and effort; spells needed to be precise, required a great deal of power, concentration, and to a certain extent clinical detachment. The caster needed some rudimentary medical or anatomical knowledge and success was largely dependent on the ailment and the recipient. Magic only enhances the body’s natural ability to mend, it does not replace it.”

“So physicians were still needed before the purge?”

“Of course. Magic has never been a cure-all. Healing uses twice the energy of the initial injury or illness involved. The body naturally takes time to recover, speeding up that process only gives the illusion of heath, a temporary solution until the body can catch up. It’s not as simple as saying a spell; a conduit such as an amulet or potion was often needed to concentrate the power and protect the user.”

“Protect?”

“Healing magic is draining and can be dangerous. If the recipient had magic of their own, the healer could utilise that or use another medium to enhance enchantment.”

“But they could heal themselves?” Arthur urges.

“It was not advisable.” The physician pauses, then asks. “Is there something else you wish to discuss? You have never shown such interest before.”

“Answer the question, Gaius. Why can’t sorcerers heal themselves?” Even as he says the words his stomach tightens.

“There is no reserve; generating the magic necessary will just take energy from elsewhere and if that person is already ailing it will only make things worse.

“I see.”

The magnitude of what he’d done hits Arthur like a punch to the stomach. Merlin had tried to warn him but had followed his orders regardless. Arthur had been so wrapped up in Merlin’s betrayal that he’d never stopped to think what he uses magic for - now he may never know.  This was all his fault. Arthur places his head in his hands.

“Sire?”

The king looks away, then towards Merlin.

“I made him do it.”

“What?”

“I made him do it, Gaius.”

The physician’s face pales.

“Merlin told me he has magic, Gaius.”

When there is no reply, Arthur continues. “We argued and I left the room. He must have... I think he tried to follow, he called for me then I heard a crash. When I came back he was on the floor, there was blood everywhere and I was so angry. I kept thinking of everything we’d been through, how unnecessary it had been and I demanded he heal it.”

“I see. You should have told me.”

“What difference would it make? You know what he did. You know what he is.” The royal snaps.

“Sire?”

“I heard you, Gaius.” He turns to look at the physician. “You knew he had magic, all this time. How long have you known? How long has he been hiding?

Gaius squares his shoulders and stands up straight, in contrast to his usual measured and careful responses, the statement is defiant. “He saved my life with magic the day we met.”

“What?”

“Do you remember when Merlin came to Camelot? It was during the time your father was celebrating twenty years since the beginning of the purge. Can you recall what spectacle there was in the square?”

Arthur nods. Of course he remembers the executions - how could I forget?

“Well, I was working in here, up on the balcony.” Gaius gestures to the rickety structure. “Merlin entered these chambers just as I slipped, the railing broke and I fell. He saved me - froze time, moved the bed under me, all within an instant and without incantation.”

The royal stares, incredulous. “You said nothing?”

“I said plenty; it was a foolish thing to do, especially after what he’d witnessed in the courtyard! But I would not condemn a boy whose only crime was being born.”

“Born?”

“With magic.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Merlin is unique.”

Arthur pulls at his hair. “Then why come to Camelot?”    

   

“Where else would you have him go? Stay in Ealdor, a small farming village where he’d been shunned and bullied all his life?”

“What?” Merlin had always said he did not fit in but had never elaborated.

“Merlin is a bastard, Sire; the situation does not make for a happy childhood. As you know, he will try and help those in need and thus attracts trouble. He has always been viewed as different and treated with suspicion; it was only a matter of time before someone discovered his secret.”

“Magic is not banned in Essetir.”

Gaius gives a rueful laugh. “Sorcerers were hunted in Cenred’s kingdom just as keenly as this one; not to be executed, but to be enslaved and used as weapons against their will. Someone like Merlin would be highly sought after - a vulnerable and malleable child.”

Arthur swallowed down bile. He’d heard of such things - the image of a child, of Merlin in a collar and chains, makes him sick but Gaius has not finished.

“Or maybe his mother should have cast him out as a babe, left this abomination on some hillside to perish?”

The royal flinches at the term, shaking his head, but the physician continues.

“Like any mother, Hunith only wanted what was best for her child. She made him hide but he’s exceptional, sending him here was a last resort.”

“Why here?”

“She thought I could teach him to control it.”

“You taught him magic, Gaius?”

“No.” The old man snorts. “He was born with it. Merlin had more innate magic when he arrived than I have ever had - more than anyone I have ever known or read about - completely untamed. No, I taught him to be cautious, to protect his secret above all else. He wanted to tell you but I advised against it - for his deception you have me to blame. He’s only ever helped Camelot, Arthur. You have no idea of the sacrifices he has made for you and this kingdom.”

“Careful, Gaius, you were never this bold with my father.”

“I have lived a long life by exercising discretion and restraint. I am an old man now and the only things I hold dear are in this room. I have always been a loyal servant but if I lose Merlin, I lose everything. My faith in you as a king will die alongside the man who has become like a son to me. So do you as you see fit.”

“No, Gaius!”

Bony fingers wrap around the old man’s wrist, terminating his tirade. The royal and the physician both gasp, looking down at the patient who was now very much awake.  Merlin looks toward the king.

“Gaius is a physician, a good man, you need him - don’t punish him because of me.”

Arthur studies the defiant face of the physician and then Merlin. His former friend’s pleas for clemency are not for himself but someone else, always someone else comes first.

“You may take your leave, Gaius.”

Gaius looks towards his ward, who nods his assent.

“As you wish, Sire.” The physician gives a curt bow and leaves the room.

It is very quiet until Merlin ventures to speak. “Thank you.”

The silence that follows is painful. The king stares at the servant for a long time but does not answer. When he does it’s a hollow whisper.

“So, will you be alright now?”

Merlin lets out a mirthless laugh. “You tell me?” But before Arthur has a chance to answer he hastily regains his composure. “I was already weak and trying to heal myself drained all my magic - my body completely shut down to recover.”

“It’s still there?”

“The magic?”

The king flinches then nods.

“I wouldn’t have woken up otherwise. I am magic, Arthur. Whilst I live, it will never go away.”

“Right.” Arthur sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“I only -”

“You lied to me, Merlin.”

“Yes.”

“You could have told me.”

“I did.”

Arthur stops. Yes, Merlin had told him and look what happened.

“I nearly killed you.” He croaks.

“Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen to sorcerers?” Merlin replies without humour.

“Damn it, Merlin, I’m not… I did not mean... I’m not going to execute you.”

“Banish me?”

“You're hardly in a  state to travel.”

“No.”

Arthur gets up. He strides over to the small window and turns his back on Merlin and drums his fingers on the sill.  “Can you stop?” He eventually says.

“Stop what?”

“Using magic?”

The king turns to face his servant. Merlin fidgets and pulls at the threads on his shirt.

“No.”

“No you can’t or no you won’t?”

“I can’t.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve tried... ” He scrunches up his face and looks away. “When I was around five I stopped; it was really hard but I needed to do it… I thought it would make her happy. It didn't. I got sick and it started bursting out of me. Mother got really angry. I thought it was because of all the broken things - I said I could fix them but she just grabbed my shoulders and kept shaking me. She begged me never to hold it in.”

 

“Did you?”

“I thought it would be easier as I got older - I managed nearly two weeks once.” He gives a tight smile.

“What happened?”

 

“I collapsed.” Merlin flops back on the pillow with a huff.  “Will wouldn’t leave me alone, then things started exploding, I felled a tree - it destroyed Old man Simmons farm. Mother sent me to Camelot after that.”

Merlin had done all that as a mere adolescent! The royal thought about his bumbling servant and wondered if his clumsiness was just an act or the result of trying to hold magic in - like a loaded crossbow.  

“You’re dangerous!” He blurts out.

“No, Arthur. I’ve never lost control since then - I can’t. My magic is powerful; I could command the skies, level mountains, and control the oceans if I chose to but I don’t use it for ill and I never will. I’ve only ever used it for good, for protection, for you.”

Arthur was having difficulty equating the frail figure with these great acts and yet he knows it is all true. To have that much power and not lose his temper, to be belittled and treated the way Arthur knew Merlin sometimes was by other nobles, by himself - the man never lashed out. Merlin was better than he. There had always been something about him, something unworldly, and now Arthur knew what it was. However, it was Merlin’s last statement that resonated.

“Protection?”

“You can’t escape your heritage, Arthur; nor can I. Being born a royal makes you a target but  I was born to protect you – it’s not been easy keeping you safe.”

“Keeping me safe?” Arthur points to his chest. “You can barely look after yourself, as soon as there’s any sort of skirmish you hide behind a bush...”

Arthur stops, suddenly recalling all their good fortune in bandit attacks; the dropped swords,  the trips and convenient falling branches. It was not luck at all; Merlin had manipulated the odds from the sidelines.

“You weren’t hiding, were you?”

Merlin shakes his head silently and Arthur looks up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know you anymore.”

“I’m still the same person.”

“Not to me.”

“Having magic does not change who I am.”

“Wrong! It changes everything! Out of everyone else, I thought I could rely on you above all.”

“You still can -”

“I thought you were an affable idiot but that’s not true is it? You’re clever and devious and you’ve lied to me since the moment we met. You made me think you were innocent, a simple buffoon, but you’re not and never were.”

“You think I wanted that?” Merlin yells, banging his chest. “To conceal that part of myself? I’ve only ever wanted to be accepted for what I am. People treat me like an idiot because that’s what they expect. I may be a peasant but I’m apprentice to a physician, I know languages, I write speeches, and I ride at your side in battle. You ask my council and yet ignore my warnings because I am just a worthless servant!”

“No.”

“I wanted to believe that, Arthur - sometimes I even thought we were friends, that we were beyond titles, but I was just a servant to you.”

“Never.”

“You’re right; now I’m just a sorcerer like all the others - corrupt, evil,  and hell-bent on destroying Camelot.”

“I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Why are you here, Merlin?”

“I told you, I was born to protect you. At first I did because it was my duty and you needed it – so arrogant and obnoxious - but then I saw you had a good heart and I believed in the king you would become.”

“I didn’t ask for your help - I managed fine before you showed up! Why did I only start getting attacked after you appeared?”

“You came of age.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Children are innocent, Arthur, didn't you know? Even avenging sorcerers have some moral code and won’t kill infants. Once you come of age you’re a man and responsible for your own actions.”

Arthur had no response to that. All his life he’d been taught the treachery of sorcery and yet there were some lines even they would not cross, lines his father slashed through under the pretence of justice. Uther had certainly never considered children of magic users innocent, he’d drowned them all. Babes, women, and children were all guilty in his eyes, even when there was no magic - mere association was enough .  

 

Merlin dips his head.“What does it matter now anyway? You see what you want to and believe what you want to – nothing I can say or do will alter that.”

You’re wrong, Merlin. You're the first person ever to question my judgement, to challenge me. I’m a better man because of you.

“All those times I called you a coward, I never really meant it; I always thought you were the bravest person I knew...”

Merlin shrugs.

“- and now I know you are.”

To stay in Camelot, to stand up to a king; even now Merlin’s not pleading for his life – just understanding.

“All those times we succeeded against the odds; skeleton armies, immortal soldiers, dragons and other foes... it was you, wasn’t it?”

“I might have helped a bit.”

Arthur snorts. “You never sought any credit?”

“That’s not why I did it.”

Arthur rubs his face; he’s tired and not slept in days.

“Then why?”

“Same as you - because it’s the right thing to do. I want to live in a land that is fair and just, Arthur. A kingdom where people are judged for what they do not who they are. I believed you were a king that could make that happen, that you could set me free.”

“And now?”

“You are destined to be the greatest king that ever lived; the Once and Future King. It has been said you will unite the five kingdoms, bring peace and usher in a new age of equality.”

“You really believe that?”

“I want to.”

“After everything that’s happened, you still have faith?”

“It has been foretold.”

“Something you saw in a crystal?”

Merlin shakes his head. “A prophecy written long before we were born; Emrys and the Once and Future King, united together to build Albion and bring about a golden age where the old and new religions are in harmony.”

“Emrys?”

“It’s what the druids call me.”

He protects Camelot; he protects you.

“You! You’re Emrys?”

Merlin nods, looking sheepish. “You’re not the only one with expectations on their shoulders.”

He defends Camelot, is the only sorcerer Morgana fears, and the most powerful magic user to walk the earth.

Arthur pales and has to sit down, resting the base of his skull in his hands. He does not say anything for a while.

Merlin not only has magic, but is hugely powerful and destined to help him rule. He looks at the forlorn body in the bed and tries to reconcile the information. Now that he thinks about it, he can. Merlin is strong-willed and wise, an intricate puzzle that he may finally have solved.

“What would you have me do?”

“Believe.”

“It’s not enough.”

“It’s a start.”

The king dips his chin in agreement.

“As it stands you’ve broken the law, Merlin.”

“I did that as soon as I was born.”

“You’re certain you can’t stop using it?”

He shakes his head. “There are devices that can prevent me using it but -.”

“Would that hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“If I banished you?”

“I wouldn’t go.”

“You would stay close by.”

“Yes.”

“Even if you were shot at on sight?”

“You would never see me.”

Arthur shakes his head. “You leave me no choice.”

“There is always a choice, Arthur.”

“Not this time.”

Merlin looks into his eyes, face grim, there are beads of sweat on his forehead and his chest is heaving.

“I will have to lift the ban on magic.”

A cup explodes and Merlin gapes like a fish, no sound but that of his lips slapping together.  

Arthur watches his friend and feels proud for the first time in a long time, then he sees the servant’s face fall.

“What is it? I thought this is what you wanted.”

“It is!” He chokes, “but you can’t.”

“Merlin, I’m the king and I can do what I damn well like.”

“I mean not right away, there will be riots - the people aren’t ready. You can’t turn over a belief system that has been established for years.”

“I did.”

“Change takes time, Arthur, if it is to be truly effective and enduring. I need to be strong. If you go ahead now there will be upheaval; things will be very difficult. I won’t be any use like this.” He gestures at his limbs.

It’s true. Arthur made the statement because it was the right thing to do but there is no denying it would be a great undertaking that would cause instability within the kingdom and make Camelot vulnerable.

“Then what do I do?”

“What you do best – lead the people, inspire them. Make changes slowly.”

“Will you help me?”

“Always - but, Arthur, it needs to be a secret until I’m stronger. Please, keep it between us.”

“Guinevere? The knights?”

“I need time, Arthur - I think you do too.”

“No one else knows?”

“Only Gaius and my mother.”

Arthur feels yet another twinge of guilt but brushes it aside and nods. “On your terms then, when you're ready?”

Merlin dips his chin.  

“So you’re still going to be my servant.”

“Yes.”

“Right. I’d better go and tell George not to get too comfortable - he threw your favourite duster away last week.”

The look of outrage on Merlin’s face is too much and Arthur throws his head back and laughs, breaking the tension. His friend joins him but Merlin is tired and has started to yawn, eyelids heavy.

Arthur turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh, I meant to give you this… it’s a week late but -”

He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a small parcel of brown paper. It’s worn white at the edges. He tosses it at the bed.

“Here.”

Merlin carefully unfolds the paper, inside is a square of fine blue material with a little gold dragon embroidered in the corner.

“I used your old one to hold your leg together - it’s just a replacement.”

Merlin fumbles with the fabric, overcome with emotion. He attempts to put it on but can’t manage.

“Give it here.” Arthur snatches the neckerchief and secures it around Merlin’s neck. As the king reaches round the servant, long arms snake out and embrace him in a hug.

“Thank you.”

The king does not withdraw; he enjoys the contact then slaps his friend on the shoulder a couple of times and nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Merlin composes himself, he smiles up at Arthur. “You wrecked my only good pair of trousers too -”

“Merlin!”

He’s too slow to respond to Arthur’s cuff and nearly falls off the bed. He’s saved by the king and it’s all too much. Merlin collapses into giggles followed by Arthur’s deep guffaws.

Gaius stands at the doorway, concealed from view. Prophecies and omens; only possible futures and outcomes and yet the old man cannot help but feel that they have started on the  path towards Albion. He’s very proud of the two men, of all they have become and all they will achieve.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was quite lengthy but I did not want to split it.  
> Epilogue to follow to tie up all the loose ends, will include two illustrations and a fight scene! Stay tuned.


	11. Epilogue: New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin faces a final fight before he can embrace his destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the final chapter - enjoy!

Chapter 11 Epilogue : New Beginnings

Merlin pulls the cowl over his face and adjusts his dark blue cloak. It has been six months since his accident. Given how events had progressed this confrontation was inevitable; Morgana - destiny and doom. The worst part was that he had brought it on himself. The witch is holding Arthur captive and even though he knows it is a trap he will not let any harm come to his king.

* * *

In the aftermath immediately following Merlin's awakening Arthur kept his word and did not say anything to anyone - not even Guinevere. For a while things went back to the way they had been, except they didn't. Merlin tried not to blatantly use his magic in front of Arthur, which should have been easy but wasn't. Keeping his gift hidden was something he'd done all his life but once the warlock knew Arthur was watching him it was more difficult than he could have imagined and things had become strained between the two men.

Gwen and Gwaine both guessed something had changed between servant and king since the accident but no amount of quiet conversations or prying would reveal answers from either party.

Merlin returned to his duties after a month, it took another two before he could walk without a limp and that was only if he made an effort. It would always be a weakness and when he was tired or distracted Merlin's gait would show signs of the old injury - which seemed to bother Arthur more than it should.

The king made a point of asking Merlin's advice during council meetings, much to the chagrin of some of the older members. However, it soon became apparent the servant was more intelligent that the nobles had given him credit for. When some of Merlin's suggestions were successful opinions began to change.

In the early stages of his recovery it had been too much for Merlin to tell Arthur all he had done. As the truth trickled out over the months and Arthur learned the true extent of Merlin's deeds there had been arguments, slammed doors and sulking on both sides; there had also been respect and remorse. It pained the king to still have Merlin as a servant, however, the arrangement gave them time to process all that had happened, to prepare, and for Merlin to recover fully.

Merlin started accompanying the knights on patrol again; predictably they were attacked by bandits, only this time Arthur was acutely aware of the fallen branches and conveniently placed tree roots that aided their victory. Afterward the king privately chastised Merlin for using his magic in such obvious ways until the warlock reminded him he'd never noticed before. Arthur conceded the point and in future encounters with ne'er-do-wells Arthur and Merlin developed a sort of private code and worked together. Later they would argue who had done more to secure success and their open squabbles helped solidify their relationship into something better than they had had before.

Unfortunately, the day a Hydra invaded the castle falling gargoyles and subtlety was not enough. The knights sliced off the creature's multiple heads but more grew to replace them. Excalibur could have destroyed it but Arthur could not get close enough to deliver the blow. Despite their skill the knights were losing; Elyan went down, a gash appeared on Gwaine's arm, a blow to Percival's leg sent him sprawling; it had gone on long enough. Merlin refused to let anyone else get hurt when he had the power to stop it.

He made a decision and quickly escaped the mêlée. He donned an old cloak, the hood covering his face. Standing high on the ramparts he was unnoticed until he deftly wielded the Sidhe staff and unleashed a blast of powerful magic that completely eviscerated the beast, leaving only scorch marks on the courtyard floor. Silence descended in the square and all looked skyward to see who had felled the fearsome creature. Before the archers could redirect their arrows the sorcerer righted his staff, bowed to the king, and hopped off the wall – seeming to disappear into nothing.

When Arthur caught up with Merlin he had plenty to say on the warlock's little escapade.

"What sort of stunt was that? What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was saving your life."

"We had the situation under control."

"No, Arthur, you didn't. Magical beasts need magic to defeat them."

"Someone could have seen you! You could have been shot."

"I was not shot and the whole of Camelot did see... well, they saw a sorcerer, nobody knew it was me... did they?"

"No. Everyone is talking about the courageous sorcerer who would protect Camelot."

Merlin's lip quirked. "Courageous?"

Arthur pursed his lips, ruffling his friend's hair. "No need to get big-headed,  _Merlin_. The courtyards a mess and my armor is covered in blood and slime from the Hydra, which is technically all your fault."

" _My fault?_  I didn't set it on the castle."

"No, but you did blow it up - so you'd better get busy!" Arthur folded his arms, cocking an eyebrow.

"Of course, Sire." Merlin huffed but as he marched down the corridor he held his head a little higher and a wide smile spread across his face.

Merlin could have appeared as Dragoon but that particular sorcerer stood accused of murdering King Uther and Arthur would have been forced to explain or pursue him; besides, Merlin wanted his young legs if he had to escape in a hurry, so the dark blue hooded cloak served him well.

The next time Merlin openly intervened in the knights' fight Camelot was under attack by a Cyclops. Once again he donned his disguise, dispatched the threat effortlessly, then theatrically bowed to the king before taking flight.

Rumours began to circulate about who this mystery sorcerer was. Some of the druids who had ventured closer to the city since Arthur's pardon were tentatively approached. The people began to whisper the name "Emrys" and the citizens of Camelot no longer seemed quite so opposed to magic.

* * *

Morgana has always known Emrys protects Arthur; the powerful warlock stands in her path to the throne. Thus, ridding herself of Emrys will be ridding Camelot of its king. She does not know who Emrys is, he has always been elusive - foiling her plans from afar. His mistake was to become too bold and too visible.

"Emrys."

Merlin rolls his shoulders and readies himself for the confrontation that has been a long time coming. He hopes he is strong enough; he may be the most powerful magic user to walk the earth but he needs to preserve lives, this weakness is Morgana's strength. She will be ruthless, doing whatever it takes to win. He will do whatever it takes to protect Arthur.

"Emrys."

Merlin steps into the courtyard and walks silently toward the witch. It takes her a moment to realise he is there, she is so intent on watching the battlements.

"Morgana."

His voice is neutral yet it commands attention and silences the courtyard.

"I am High Priestess of the Old Religion; you have no right to use my name." She spits.

"I am Emrys; I have every right to your name."

"Only a coward hides his face."

"Or takes an innocent hostage."

"Innocent?"

The air crackles and pulsates with energy. They stand a meter apart, the witch has cast some sort of spell that has immobilised the court. Merlin could have released the people but for now they are safer this way.

"It does not have to be like this, Morgana. I don't want to fight you."

"You never fight, that's the problem! The mighty Emrys is scared and impotent, saving his own skin whilst magic suffers."

"It's not like that."

"It is whilst he sits on my throne." Morgana sneers, shooting a murderous glance at her brother. " I'm here to take back what's mine and make the changes you did not have the courage to."

Merlin holds her gaze, watching Morgana's eyes so he can respond the moment she decides to attack.

"It's not your throne. Arthur is a good and just king; Camelot has prospered under his reign."

"Magic has not prospered. Your kin are oppressed and hunted and here you are - nothing but a lap dog to a false king! He would cut off your head if you did not cower behind a cowell!"

"As you can see, my head is firmly attached to my shoulders. King Arthur has known of my existence for months - I have not been pursued."

"Traitor!"

The warlock is determined not to react to her words. "Magic users are not hunted indiscriminately, Morgana. There have been no executions since Arthur came to power and the druids have been pardoned. Can't you feel the changes? Things are getting better now and will continue to do so. You need to be patient."

"I have been patient long enough, but you're right, things  _will_  change - starting with you!"

Morgana sends a blast of magic toward Merlin but he ducks easily.

A battle begins using all the elements. The seasons fight for supremacy, only just contained within the castle walls. There are bursts of lightning and fire, falling rocks and unnatural gales. Vines spring from earth and statues become animated. Merlin deflects and matches all that the witch throws at him. Then she changes tactics, attacking the stationary people and knights. The warlock immediately blocks the bolts of magic but it leaves him open.

When Morgana's magic hits him in the chest he is lifted off his feet and slammed into the ground. He rushes to regain his footing, using the staff for support. He is desperate to get up before she can strike again.

For a moment everything stops. Morgana stands, glaring at him, rage contorting her features.

"You!"

The hood covering his face has fallen back, revealing his true identity to all. Merlin straightens.

The witch screams, sending a barrage of rocks and masonry flying toward him.

He reacts instantly, magic holding all the debris suspended in the air, frozen in time. He lowers his arm, letting the rubble fall safely to ground.

 

[](https://imgur.com/ZJmCNrq)

 

"Go, Morgana, this battle is one you cannot win. You have no army, no subjects, and I am stronger than you. This is your last chance."

"I don't need an army." She sneers. "Aithusa!"

There was a wild screeching sound as a white dragon appears in the sky, wings blocking out the sun and casting dark shadows over the courtyard. Aithusa throws back her head, ready to unleash fire.

Morgana releases the holding spell with a smirk. The crowd collectively screams and chaos breaks out in the square. Some of the knights react immediately, cordoning the people off and directing them to safety, others engage the witch. Merlin conjures a shield to protect all against the flames, then roars in the dragon tongue.

" **O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"**

Aithusa freezes in midair then drops from the sky like a stone, landing next to the dragonlord. She bows her head and lays down on her belly in submission.

"NO!" Morgana howls, flinging back Percival and Leon. "No." Gwaine and Elyan meet the same fate.

"Stop this! I'm warning you, leave now, Morgana."

"Never!"

She crouches down palms to the earth, eyes golden, and starts to chant. " **Eorðe, lyft, fyr, wæter, hiersumaþ me.**   **Eorðe ac stanas hiersumaþ me. Ic can stanas tobrytan. Hiersumaþ me."**

Cracks appear in the walls and floor, the citadel begins to shake.

Merlin grapples to keep his footing. He doesn't want to do this, but Morgana would destroy Camelot and he will not allow that.

"I'm sorry, Morgana; I feel partly responsible for what you have become but this cannot continue.  **Gescildan!"**

Merlin holds out his arm and a clear dome encases the witch, containing her power.

Enraged she fires spells at the shield but to no effect, like a wasp caught in a jar. The sphere starts to change, becoming crystalline and shrinking in size. His magic is working instinctively now, the high priestess is strong and Merlin struggles to bring her power under control. Her gift is tainted, twisted and dark; being in contact with such malevolent magic burns his soul but he continues to pull it into himself, neutralising and binding it so she can do no more harm.

The effort of maintaining the spell is making his nose bleed and his body shake but he does not stop. The prison gets smaller, becoming a multifaceted diamond with a black heart.

She has stopped screaming and is now on her knees, space closing in around her as she begs with tears in eyes.

"Please, Emrys. Please stop."

Her arm is outstretched and he thinks he finally sees part of the young woman he met when he first came to the city. He can't do it anymore; he's taken too many lives. He cannot keep her encased in a glass coffin, no matter what she has done.

The knights are approaching and he can sense Arthur's presence but he does not look up.

It takes immense effort to rein in his power and release the enchantment. The crystal prison slowly becomes molten then disappears completely in wisps of gold.

"Thank you, Emrys," she says, bowing her head and catching her breath.

"The king will decide your fate."

Merlin's not a fool; he knows she continues to be a threat. He has taken most of Morgana's power but she still retains some - he would not steal her soul, no matter how twisted.

The air clears and Morgana is on her knees at his feet. He can see her chest rise and fall through the thin, tattered bodice of her dress. Slowly she raises her chin and her green eyes meet his. Morgana retains the grace of a cat as she smiles and holds out her hand.

Merlin is hesitant but bends down, as he does she snarls, springing forward and plunging a dagger into his leg. Teeth bared and fingers clawed, she launches herself at him as he falls.

He lets go of the staff as he crashes to the floor. The end bounces off the cobbles and the trajectory changes. There is a moment when she looks in horror, eyes wide, then the pointed tip of the staff pierces her heart. The stake goes straight through her torso, disbelief ghosting her features before she explodes into dust.

The staff clatters to the floor. The witch is gone, no more than ash on the wind. The warlock is flat on his back, still in shock, watching the black mist dissipate. He's won but he takes no pleasure in it. Morgana was the instrument of her own destruction - still it felt like a failure on his part.

The courtyard is silent. Previously, victory had brought cheers, now the crowd has seen his face and they stand in judgement, cold and indifferent. He rolls onto his side, fingers curling around the wooden staff, pulling himself upright. He can barely stand but he refuses to fall until Arthur has spoken.

Merlin looks toward his king, the only one whose opinion matters. He has forced Arthur's hand - something he never wanted to do - and he must face the consequences.  _Perhaps it's time for the truth._ He cannot run, he does not bow or use the last of his magic to disappear. He stays in the middle of the square and waits.

Arthur strides toward him, his face unreadable. He stops inches from Merlin.

"This man has been at my side for years. He has magic." Arthur's voice rings out in the silence of the courtyard. "Merlin Emrys is loyal to this city and defends our home as fiercely as any knight. He is my friend, my brother and protector. A true servant of Camelot."

The king of Camelot drops to one knee, head bowed. Seconds later the knights come forward and join him. The onlookers bow their heads.

Merlin has tears in his eyes and cannot speak. His gaze is drawn to the one figure who is still upright, Gaius. The physician smiles and starts a slow clap. The people join him, the pace quickens and the king rises. A hush descends as Arthur walks toward Merlin and grasps his hand, lifting it high in the air.

"For the love of Camelot!"

The crowd erupts and Arthur pulls his friend into an embrace which at that moment is the only thing keeping the warlock on his feet. Over the racket Arthur leans in and whispers:

"I think I can lift the ban on magic; the people are ready."

[](https://imgur.com/HzHp5ax)

 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos and written comments. This was the first story I posted on this site - thank you for making me feel welcome I hoped you enjoyed it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art work for Omens](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243995) by [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72)




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